


Don't Call Me Princess

by Rikki_Ray



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, bound to be an age gap, future porn, hot old guy, sarge is old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-30 23:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikki_Ray/pseuds/Rikki_Ray
Summary: Sarge wants your heart, but you're not so easily won.(There's no Sarge/readers on here which is a freaking crime. I'm going to fix that)





	1. The Deal

You sat in the training room talking to Simmons while the recruits practiced with their shotguns on the firing range. You both were finished for the day and were resting on some crates close to the weight lifts. Taking a sip of water you listen to Simmons’ recap of their time at Valhalla. A lot of his stories sounded like something out of a comic book, but seeing as it was Simmons you doubted he was stretching the truth.

Just as he was telling you about Washington getting run over by the Warthog at Valhalla, you heard a loud slam as the training room doors were swung open. Both of you jump in alarm, turning to see Sarge saunter his way across the room towards you two.

“Speaking of,” Simmons says, waving at Sarge.

At the sight of the Red Team’s commander, you felt your stomach twist in worry. Sarge has been making not so subtle passes at you recently, and much to your dismay has yet to let up. Sarge wasn’t by any means ugly, but his flirting wasn’t exactly on par. Instead of coming across as roguishly charming (as your sure he thinks he does) he’s instead become overbearing. You’ve told him both directly and indirectly that you weren’t interested in him, but he wouldn’t have any of it. One way or another he was going to win you over.

_ Fat chance. _ You think to yourself.

The red soldier grunts a halfhearted hello to Simmons when he reaches you both, most of his focus on you and not his subordinate. “(Y/n),” he smiled in greeting, practically wedging himself between you and Simmons. The tall male had to scoot back a few feet on his crate to avoid being out-right shoved aside by his officer. 

“Morning, Sarge,” you say taking a sip of your water and casting an apologizing glance towards Simmons. He waved it off.

“I see you finished your rounds,” he said, leaning against your crate. You nod your head, avoiding as much eye contact as possible. 

“Nothing like starting your morning with a couple laps, some artillery practice, and a bit of heavy lifting! Get’s the blood going!” Sarge says trying to keep your eyes locked.

After a short hum from you and moment of awkward silence, he speaks up once more.

“Speaking of heavy lifting, I was just about to get some reps on the bench press in before breakfast.”

“But you've already had breakfast-” Simmons starts before promptly being jabbed in the ribs by Sarge’s elbow. You hear a not-so-quiet whisper spill from his lips, “Shut it numbnuts!” 

_ Subtle  _ and _ charming. _ You muse.

“O-oh, uh, yeah, sounds good Sarge,“ Simmons mutters in pain.

“Tck, boy, you’ve got to learn to take a hit. Like a real man.”

As he says this he settles onto the bench press, the weights from the last user still on. You glance at the number, eyes widening at seeing 210 pounds on the bar. 

“Uh, Sarge?” You start. 

“Yes, (Y/n)?”

“Don’t you think you should, oh I don’t know,  _ start lower than 200 pounds on the first press?” _

His laugh is loud and confident. “Don’t be ridiculous, 210 pounds is nothing!”

You flash a concerned look at Simmons. He quickly steps in.

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think it’s safe for you to bench press that much, given your ag-”

“My _ what _ , Simmons?” Sarge warns, snapping his eyes to the younger man.

“Uh-I meant, um, I don’t want you to strain yourself-not that you’d strain at all, you’re in peak physical condition-”

“Darn tootin’” He growls, settling his hands on the bar, preparing to lift it.

“Just because you’re in ‘peak physical condition’ doesn’t mean lifting 200 pounds on the first go is a good idea,” you cut in, giving him a stern look.

“Aw, that’s sweet of you to be concerned for my well being, Princess, but you needn’t worry your pretty little head,” He says bracing himself. 

You felt your eye twitch at your nickname. Just as you were about to berate him for calling you such he begins to lift the weight. He grunts loudly, his arms pushing up against the bar. It doesn’t move but a mere centimeter before he sets it back down. He growls something under his breath before trying once more, with no results of movement.

“Uhm, Sir?”

“Quiet Private, can’t you see I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Actually I’m a captain now reme-”

“Simmons?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Simmons sighs, looking down.

You give him a look that clearly says,  _ Stop being such a doormat. _ He shrugs sheepishly, opting to just drink his water instead of enduring your stare.

You turn back to Sarge when you hear him grunting again. “Sarge, stop, it’s too heavy for you. At least let Simmons spot you!”

“Ha! Simmons can barely lift up a rocket launcher,” he huffs, teeth gritted as his shaking arms push the weight up another inch, “I don’t need a spot, I’m...perfectly capable of performing a bench press!” He growls, lifting the weight at last away from the holding rack and above his chest. Your eyebrows raise, as you watch, a bit impressed that someone his age was able to lift 210 pounds on his third try.

He laughs breathlessly, “See what’d I tell-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his arms give out underneath the weight. You and Simmons rush to Sarge when he lets out a pained shout.

“Oh, my God! Sarge are you okay?!?” you ask rushing to help lift the weight from his body with Simmons’ help. Sarge simply groans in pain. “Can you stand?” Simmons asks worriedly. The older man attempts to sit up only to collapse in agony. 

“We should get him to Doctor Grey,” the maroon soldier says, grabbing Sarge by the armpits despite his protests. “Grab his legs,” he instructs. You do as he says. You both hurry your officer to the medbay, rushing past confused soldiers in the hallways.

The medical ward was empty when you both arrived but after calling Emily’s name a few times she appeared out from her attached quarters. She was beyond thrilled to have her first patient of the day, it would seem. She continued to ramble on about her methods of choice for ‘fixing’ Sarge, putting Simmons and you on edge.

“Oh I haven’t gotten a chance to use my new scalpels yet, they just came in yesterday!” She exclaimed excitedly.

Simmons gives the women a frightened look, “But, you don’t need to perform surgery on him! Do you?”

She walks around on the other side of Sarge who was currently on the medical examination table, “Well there’s no evidence that his ribs are broken, but why not be thorough?” She grins pulling up her tray of tools.

Your eyes widen in panic, “Surely there’s no need for that, can’t you just give him an x-ray or something?”

“Now who’s the doctor, here?” Grey chimes, humming as she starts to select a scalpel. 

“More like a mad scientist!” Simmons mutters in his hand.

“Here we go!” She sings, brandishing a shiny new blade, turning to look down at Sarge. He glances up at her warily. 

“Don’t I get anesthesia first?” He asks, starting to shift away from the small knife.

“Oh, don’t be silly I’ll just give you some painkiller afterward.” 

“What?!?” You and Simmons exclaim.

“Don’t worry it’s standard procedure.” She starts to usher you both out of the room.

“You can’t just cut a man open without reason!” Simmons argues, trying his best to push back against the surprisingly strong doctor. “Can’t we, like, bribe you or something to  _ not _ cut open our sergeant?” He asks, searching for a last-ditch effort to ensure his commander’s safety.

“I’m a professional doctor Captain Simmons, I would never-”

“We’ll give you our desert rations for the next two weeks if you don’t use a scalpel,” you say. She pauses, looking down at you thoughtfully. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, making the air tense.

“Make it three and you got yourself a deal.”

You stare back at her, surprised before exclaiming, “Done!” 

“Hey, wait-” Simmons starts, about to defend his desserts, before you kick his shin. 

Dr. Grey either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, about your exchange and guides you both out the door.

“I’ll have him fixed up in a jiffy, without the scalpel,” she sings.

The way she says the last part has you even more concerned than before, but you don’t have the chance to say anything because she’s shut the door.

The two of you stand in stunned and worried silence.

“I hope he’ll be okay,” Simmons finally says, scratching the back of his head, a habit he has whenever his helmet is off.

“With Grey or his injury?” you ask, staring at the door.

“Both.”

You stand in the hallway for a few minutes before Simmons finally breaks the silence.

“We should probably tell Carolina and Wash.”

“Probably.”

He turns to head to war room pausing when he notices you not following.

“You’re not coming?”

“I think I’ll wait here till he gets out,” you explain, leaning against the wall. “Hopefully he won’t be missing a few limbs after.”

“I wish that were a joke,” he says. You nod your head in agreement, concern spreading through your chest. You wait outside the room, replaying what words you were going to yell at Sarge about being more careful. You didn’t have to wait long for the opportunity because within thirty minutes or so the medbay door opened.

“All done!” Dr. Grey says.

You stand up from your spot on the wall, “Can I see him?”

Grey nods her head, stepping aside to let you in.

Brushing past her, you walk into the medical room. Sarge was still lying on the examination table. He looks rough, to say the least, causing your anger to diminish.  _ I’ll yell at him when he’s not in horrible pain _ . You promise yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask when he turns to look at you.

“Like someone shot my pride down with a tank grenade.” He answers.

You crack a smile.

“At least your ribs are still intact...Right?” You ask concern bleeding through your voice.

Now it’s Sarge’s turn to grin, or rather use one of the smuggest smirks you’ve ever seen on his face. “Aw, worried for me are you princess?” He attempts what you think was a laugh, but it died in his throat when he winced in pain and placed a hand on his chest. 

“Don’t call me that,” you say, glancing to where you last saw Grey. You didn’t see her in the immediate proximity, so you assume you both had privacy for the time being. “Are they broken or not?” You ask, turning your attention back to the sergeant.

“Couple are cracked,” He says. 

You hum. 

Silence reigns for an awkward minute before you finally speak up again, “Sarge…?” He grunts in response. “Promise me something?” At this, he turns his head to look quizzically at you. 

“My ribs are bruised woman, I’m not  _ dying. _ ”

“What? No,” you say, shaking your head, “I don’t mean ‘promise me’ as in the near-death aspect.”

“Good. I’m not that old.”

You bite your tongue from saying something snarky. “I want you to promise me you aren’t going to pull another stunt like that again just to impress me,” you explain. 

“So I impressed you?” he questions smugly.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” He decides, more so to himself.

“No-Sarge, I want you to  _ stop _ .”

“Not until I’ve won your heart!”

“Dear God,” you sigh heavily.

You couldn’t spend your whole morning in here arguing with him so you try to come up with a compromise to ensure that he wouldn’t cut off a limb next time around. The thing is you can’t bribe him with anything. You just gave the next three weeks worth of your desserts to Emily so you didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on. Luckily Sarge helps you out.

“I'll make a deal with you, princess.” 

Your eye twitches at the pet name.

“I'll leave you alone if you let me court you.”

“Court?”

“It means-” 

“I know what it means I just didn’t think you'd use such an old term.”

“What did I say about calling me old?!”

“I didn’t call you old...I just implied it.” You smirk down at him.

He wasn’t amused, but he continued nonetheless. “Give me a couple of chances with you. A few dates.”

You stare at him for a minute not sure what to say. Well, scratch that, you  _ did _ know what to say, ‘No.’ but looking down at him made you pause in answering with such. He just got pummeled with a weight bar, and so did his pride. While you did feel guilty, even if you didn’t directly cause his pain, you didn’t by any means feel obligated to humor him. Not a lot anyway. But Sarge was now offering to leave you alone if you let him take you out just a few times.

_ You wouldn’t have to worry about him making a fool of himself anymore. _ Your inner voice says.  _ What’re a few dates anyway? After them, you won’t have to worry about him anymore and he can move on. _ Even so, you hesitate.

He sees your uncertainty.

“Come on sweetheart, just ten dates.”

“ _ Ten? _ You said a  _ few. _ ”

“That is a few!”

“I think we both have different definitions of ‘a few’.”

He grunts in affirmation.

“Three dates,” you say, crossing your arms. His eyes snap from the ceiling back to your face.

“Three?! Outrageous! How about seven?”

“Four.”

“Six! That’s my final offer!”

You chuckle, “How about five? Meet halfway?” 

He growls in his throat, unhappy with the low number. “Fine! Five dates! But I get to choose when we get to have them!”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Why?”

“Because you’ll make them all in a row so you can get it over with!”

That causes you to laugh. “I wouldn’t.” You both stare at each other, Sarge giving you a look that clearly says ‘ _ I’m old, not stupid. _ ’ You smile and shake your head, “Alright, deal, five dates, and you get to pick when, but I have one condition.”

Sarge smirks in victory before asking, “What?”

“You can’t call me Princess.”


	2. Rumors

Why’d you agree to it?” Simmons asks while he walks beside you. After meeting up with him again in the war room you had told him of your and Sarge’s deal. Currently, you were both heading to the armory, planning to help Donut with the artillery.

“I don’t know. Pity maybe?” You say shrugging, not entirely sure yourself.

He laughs, “Or stupidity.” He holds up his hands when you glare at him. “Come on (Y/n) you have to agree that giving Sarge five dates with you, whenever he wants might I add, wasn’t particularly intelligent!” You huff, grumbling under your breath.

“It’s not like I can take it back now! It’s like making a deal with the devil.”

“No escape from Hell,” Simmons quips, making you laugh. You both turn down the corridor while you continue speaking.

“I’ll just have to suffer through the dates. It can’t take that long to get through five of them...Right?”

“Depends on his impulse control, which from my experience is zero. So I’d say you have a pretty good chance,” he says.

It was true, Sarge wasn’t one for patience, much less self-control, but he did say that the reason he even wanted control over the time and the place of the dates was because he was afraid you’d get them all over with. That made you nervous, and for the umpteenth time, you begin to regret your decision. You could try to call it off, but it would probably go as well as it would when you told him you weren’t interested in him as a partner. You sigh.

“I’m an idiot,” you say. Simmons nudges your arm, “Don’t be so down on yourself. We’re all idiots.” You smile at your friend.

When you reach the artillery room there’s a long line of soldiers waiting for their weapon of choice while Donut and Lopez struggle to keep up with the consistent flow of people. The whole back room appeared to be in chaos. You hear angry Spanish and Donut’s voice yell back, “Now is not the time to be talking about the weather, Lopez! It’s not even winter!” The clang of a metal wrench echoes out across the room, no doubt Lopez trying to murder the flamboyant soldier with whatever tool he had in his hand.

Simmons groans, “I leave for two hours and they fall into complete madness! I even organized the weapons according to weight class and range! I could not have made it any more simple!” You hide your grin as you slip on your helmet, locking it into place. Simmons follows your lead, all the while ranting.

“Oh, my God, they fucked everything up! I left a list and a schedule, how could--Fuck, Donut, stop! That is military grade equipment, do _not_ put it there!” He sprints forward at full speed towards the pink armored man, curses spewing out of his mouth. You stare both amused and bewildered at the scene. Sometimes you wondered how this group of sim troopers ever managed to take down Project Freelancer at all. _Dumb luck at it’s finest._ You think shaking your head. You walk over to join the chaos.

~*~*~*~

The next day at breakfast Sarge sits down at your table with a groan. You look up, surprised he’s moving at all. “Uhm, morning Sarge,” you say, looking him up and down. He flashes a smile at you, “Morning, (Y/n).” While he begins to eat you continue to watch him curiously. He must have seen your expression because he answers your unspoken question.

“Dr. Grey let me out early,” he explains.

“You cracked your ribs,” you state obviously.

“So?”

“So you should be resting in bed,” you stress.

He scoffs, “I might be old but that doesn’t mean I’m brittle! I can handle a little pain!”

“I still say you should be in bed resting. You should also take your pain meds-” Sarge firmly sets his cup down, “I’m a grown man I don’t need any pain medication! What are you, my mother?” You roll your eyes at his stubbornness, if not a bit amused by his childishness.

“Just trying to help you, Sarge,” you say.

“Like I said before Princ-” At your glare he stops halfway through the nickname, realizing just in time his mistake. He quickly backtracks, “-(Y/n)! I meant (Y/n)! Like I said before, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head, I’m fine!”

“Uh-huh,” you remark, digging back into your food, lowering your gaze back down to your plate.

You both lapse into silence, eating quietly. Halfway through your meal you glance up and watch him chew. You think back to your deal for a moment as you watch him. What exactly did Sarge consider a date to be? Was he going to be ridiculously old-fashioned and wine and dine you, or would he go with the get drunk date? By the looks of him, you think he’d go with the get drunk option. However being on Chorus and in the middle of a war booze wasn’t exactly a common occurrence. The chances of you both getting a drink anytime soon were slim.

Briefly, you imagined Sarge trying to take you on a more traditional date. Dinner, a movie, or maybe dancing. While this option sounded very pleasing to you, mostly because you were a sucker for the romantic scene, it seemed highly unlikely when you put Sarge into the equation. Dinner was possible, but you doubt Sarge would go the extra mile and dress nicely. Movie options on this planet were Grif’s collection of Battlestar Galactica. And the thought of Sarge dancing! Well, you had a hard time seeing him do that. Almost immediately your brain flashed images of Sarge doing generic dances from the 80s.

You choke on your eggs, causing Sarge to glance up at you momentarily. You waved him off, avoiding eye contact in case you burst out laughing. Once he goes back to eating you shake your head to yourself. No, definitely not his style. However, you _would_ sell your left kidney to see such a thing!

You take the last bite of your food and begin to stand up from your spot. Before you can put up your tray and dishes Sarge stops you.

“Hold on a second there missy,” he says reaching for your wrist, “Got a question for you.”

You sit back down, giving him the go ahead.

“What’s your schedule like for the rest of this week?” He asks, obviously alluding to a possible date.

“Well, it’s currently booked up with training and a food recovery mission with Wash,” You say, thinking back to your debriefing with Kimball and Carolina.

He hums, “Alright, how long’s your training for?”

“Ends at 7,” you answer, folding your arms and resting your elbows on the table. He looks hopeful for a minute until you say, “Oh, and I have guard duty at Upper Cannon, shift starts at 9.” He deflated at your words.

“Damn it, why do you gotta make this difficult for me woman!”

“ _Me?_ ”

“Yes! Because of my stupid injury, I’m prohibited from duty until Thursday! I won’t be able to do squat with you until then and your schedule isn’t helping at all!”

“I thought you said Grey let you out early,” you say.

He rubs the back of his neck, “Well she may or may not know that.” You stare at him, not the least bit surprised he snuck out of the medical ward like a teenager. “Wow,” you chuckle. He ignores your humorous stare and returns back to the subject at hand.

“Hey, when that’s mission of yours exactly?”

At this, your eyes widen slightly, the implications of his question crystal clear. Hell, no. There was no way you were going to let Sarge go with you on this mission.

You, Wash, and two other soldiers have to sneak into one of the Fed’s old warehouses. And it just so happens that the building is 2 kilometers below a merc infested camp. The snowy ridge has a perfect view of the building and tree line of where you have to sneak through. You all had to be careful and stealthy; two adjectives that do not belong in the same sentence with Sarge’s name.

“It’s tomorrow,” you lie, hoping to God he couldn’t tell.

“Dagnabit!” he growls.

“Yeah, a real shame. You could have helped us out and everything,” You say, feigning disappointment. You didn’t have to try hard to fool him though, he was too wrapped up in his date plans. This was both a blessing and a curse.

“Well, while you figure out a time for our…,” God you hated to say it out loud, “Date...I’m going to go do my rounds.” You stand up from your spot, leaving the man behind to pout.

Your day passed without any more interactions with Sarge. You hoped you wouldn't see him at all until after the weekend when your objective was cleared and Sarge was officially fit for duty. Hopefully, he wouldn't find out about your fib at all. Your wishes were short lived.

He found you in the halls on your way to the barracks, a large grin on his face that made you instantly nervous.

“(Y/n)! There you are!” he strides up to you while you resist the urge to speed walk away.

“I spoke to Washington,” he says and your stomach drops, “Turns out the recovery mission is Saturday!”

_Shit._

You wait for him to scold you for lying to him, but it never comes. Instead, he surprises you.

“Looks like you just got your dates mixed up,” he explains. “Isn't it great? Now I can join you all in your crusade!”

You do a double take, astounded by his obliviousness. You know he’s dumb but you didn’t think he was so dense as to not pick up on the lie. You struggle to form a response, “Uh, you, wait what- _you’re coming with us?!_ Washington-- _”_

 _“--_ Is letting me come! Can't have a mission without proper backup! And I'm the best shot out of all these dirtbags!”

“You’re really _not-_ ”

“Plus, you’ll need an extra pair of hands to help transport the food capsules!”

“We already have-”

“Don’t worry I'm not trying to insult your lack of proper muscle power,” he says gesturing to your arms.

You frown, about to bring Hell to earth but he continues to interrupt you.

“I can't keep talking to you now sweetheart, save your gratitude till later, I have to find Lopez, he's giving me an armor upgrade for the operation!”

He leaves you in the hall feeling both flabbergasted and furious. You stand there a minute, processing everything he just said.

Then you remember what Sarge said; Wash approved this.

_I’m going to kill him._

You marched through the halls towards the training room. When you opened the door you spot Wash shouting at the recruites, well mostly Grif, to keep up the pace. He didn't even notice your approach until you were right behind him.

He turned, surprised to see you so close. “Uh, yes?” he asks.

“I have to talk to you privately,” you say calmly, not wanting to start a scene.

You grab his elbow and guide him away from everyone's earshot.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Did you tell Sarge he could come on the food recovery mission?” you hiss under your breath, your calm demeanor all but gone. Wash blinks at you, confused.

“No, but he was pestering me about it.”

“Did you say _anything_ at all that might've sounded like a ‘yes’ to him?” you press.

“No, I didn't. But given that it’s Sarge he probably took my ‘no’ as a confirmation anyway,” he sighs.

You grumble under your breath. “You’re not going to actually let him come are you?”

“Of course not!” he exclaims. “I want this mission to be a success, not a disaster! And even if he does try to come, I doubt he'll make it past Kimball.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank God.” Wash smiles at your reaction before a curious expression crosses his face. “What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in confusion. You glance down at yourself to try and spot something off on your uniform, but you see nothing.

“Oh, uh, I was thinking to myself,” he lies. You arch your eyebrow higher, “No, what is it? Don’t lie to me.” Washington struggles with himself internally if he should say anything at all, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak you hear the sound of a body hitting the floor. You both turn your heads to see Grif panting heavily on the ground, groaning something unintelligible.

“Grif, you’re not done, you still have five more laps!” Wash barks.

“How--huh--the fuck--would _you_ know asshole!” he pants trying his best to look up at you both. “You’ve had your back turned--this whole fucking time!” he protests.

“Because you do this every day! Now get up, unless you want to double your rounds!”

He groans heavily, prying himself from the floor. Wash turns back to you.

“So?” you ask, prompting for an answer. You weren't letting Wash off that easy. He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly, “It's just a rumor, honestly.”

At this, you frown, “What rumor?” He hesitates for a second, “It’s just something stupid about you and Sarge being together.” He laughs as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had heard. “I didn’t want to say anything, you know? I know how annoying Sarge’s advances are for you and I didn’t want you to also deal with false rumors.”

“Oh,” you say, face heating up. “Y-yeah, that’s just a rumor.” _What the fuck?_ You begin to panic inside. _How the fuck did it get out so fast it just happened yesterday!_

Wash’s laugh stops at your expression. He stares at you for a second. “Oh my God,” he says in shock. You jump at his words, looking at his shocked face. “Are you guys actually…? God, I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything by--” You wave your hands frantically at him, “No, no, no! We aren’t together!” Your face grew in heat.

“So--what? Your just..uhm, friends with benefits?” he asks, trying to be as polite as possible. You choke, struggling for words. _Don’t think of that mental picture._ You scream in your head.

“We aren’t a _couple_ is what I mean! He’s just...I was stupid and maybe-sort-of agreed to a few dates! He just wanted me to give him a few chances!” Washington blinks at you, processing your information. “I’m not interested in him though!” you argue. He slowly nods his head after a moment, “Uh-huh.” He seemed unconvinced.

Desperate to change the subject and to save face you return the spotlight to him, “How did you hear about Sarge and me anyway?” Your accusing tone made him stand up straight.

“Oh, uh, well-”

“It was Sarge wasn’t it?” you question. You swear if Sarge was telling everyone that the two of you were an ‘item’ you were going to stab him.

“Well, I don’t know if Sarge was the one who started it, but I heard it from Palomo. I thought they were just rumors. But uh, I guess they're not.” he says, glancing sideways at you.

“Jesus Christ how did _Palomo_ find out!?” You couldn’t handle this much humiliation in one day. Maybe in small doses, but this was like jumping head first into an ice bath.

“Simmons was telling Donut about it, everyone in line at the armory heard it!” Grif shouts as he slowly jogs by. “Plus Sarge kept bragging about it at lunch!”

“Sprint, Grif! Less talking more running!” Wash yells back, attempting to get the blabbermouth quiet, if only for your sake. He turns to see your face turn an even brighter shade of red. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or rage. Probably both. He regrets bringing up this subject all together now.

“I'm going to kill them both,” you say, rubbing your eyes, subtly hiding your face. Wash pats you on the shoulder encouragingly, offering a sympathetic smile, “Hey, don’t worry. No one is actually going to believe Sarge. Unless they see you both on a date...In which case you’re screwed.”

“Gee thanks,” you deadpan.

Wash shrugs, “Yeah, sorry, I’m not good at emotional support.” He begins to turn back to the recruits before he stops halfway. “Oh wait, Kimball wanted me to ask you a question for her. You know, because of you and Sarge...”

“Fuck, Kimball knows _too?_ ” _This is it, my life’s officially over. There’s no going up, it’s all downhill from here on out._

He nods apologetically, “What can you do? This army is basically all a bunch of gossip deprived teenagers. Word spreads fast.”

You groan pushing your hair back with both hands. “What’s the question?” You sigh, swallowing your pride.

“She wanted to make sure your and Sarge’s...ah-- _relationship_ won't prevent you from performing in the field,” He says, watching you with pity while you struggle with trying not to pull your hair out.

You’re not sure what’s more mortifying: the fact that Kimball knows about Sarge and you, or the fact that she probably assumes you’re both fucking and is so worried it’ll influence your routine that she _has to ask about it to make sure you both can function in battle_. You stare at the ceiling for a second, contemplating death, before answering in a defeated tone, “No, it won’t affect my performance on the battlefield or anywhere else.”

Wash nods his head, satisfied with your response. “I’ll see you Saturday (Y/n).” He waves goodbye to you as he heads back to his recruits, itching to get away from the conversation.

“See you,” you reply. You walk back to your room to prepare for your night shift, wondering if you could slip two murders in before you left for Upper Cannon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty rough, but the next one will be better


	3. Mission Impossible Part 1

It was one in the morning when you all started to pack up your gear in the loading truck and warthog. Your partner for the mission, private Gentry, was handing you the shells for the turret on the warthog. You and Washington were both assigned a recruit for the operation: Gentry and Paige. They were both well acquainted with recovery missions since their time with the feds, making them perfect candidates for the task up ahead.

You were loading the last of the gun’s rounds when you heard Sarge’s voice break through the quiet.

“Mornin’ Wash,” he calls, startling everyone with his loud voice. He strolls outside the compound towards you all in the loading bay. The normally red armored man is now sporting black armor, causing you to do a double take. You thought Sarge wouldn’t be caught dead in any color other than red. You glance over to Washington and he meets your eye. Even though you had your helmet on, he manages to understand your unspoken words and nods his head to you as if to say, “Hold on, I got this.”

“Good morning...Shouldn’t you be in bed?” He asks when the black armored male stands in front of him.

“And miss the mission?! Wouldn’t dream of it! Which car am I goin’ in?” He locks eyes with you, “I’d prefer it to be the one with the beautiful Miss (L/n) on board.” He smiled as if what he said was the most flattering statement conceivable, but it only made you roll your eyes.

“You’re not going in either car,” Wash says.

“Oh, so I get to drive my own!”

“No, Sarge. You’re not driving or riding in any car. You’re not coming with us.”

The gruff man laughs loudly, “Good one Agent Washington!”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m Little Bo Peep! Quit your jabbering boy and get a move on, we’re wasting valuable time!” He walks right past him and towards you.

“Mornin’ Princess.” You refrain from kicking him in the face and instead just tilt your head expectantly.

“What?” he asks. “No morning greeting?”

You shift your weight and place a hand on your hip. “I would if you addressed me by my name,” you say, hinting at the use of your nickname.

His expression lights up in realization, “Oh, of course! My bad, darlin’, but I just can’t help it! I-”

“You better ‘help it’ if you want our deal to stay intact,” you chide, turning back to the turret. You place the very last load of bullets in the gun while Washington walks up to Sarge. He opens his mouth, preparing to deliver a long over-dramatic speech about protocol no doubt, but before he can even get a single syllable out Private Paige speaks up.

“We’re all set, Sir. If we want to reach the food storage unit we better leave now while the pirates are low on their guard.”

“Alright, let’s kick some pirate booty!” Sarge exclaims.

Wash grumbles under his breath as he turns back to the older male.

“Not you Sarge, we don’t need an extra man-”

“Of course you do! Four people won’t be able to survive that trip with one turret and a couple of rifles! You need my expertise, my shotgun, and my obviously superior muscle power to get back here alive!”

You shake your head and slip off the back of the hog. You motion for Gentry to follow you to the loading truck.

You had hoped to sneak out before Sarge even realized what was going on, but it appears that the universe has different ideas. And it begins with a middle finger and ends with a big fat fuck you.

Washington hesitates for a long moment before sighing. He turns to Paige, “Start the warthog.” Once Paige walks away he turns back to Sarge. “Look we’re on a strict schedule and I don’t have time to argue-”

“Good, glad that’s settled. I’ll just get a ride with (Y/n).”

Wash grabs his shoulder before he walks away, “Look if you come you have to be _quiet._ Do everything that I say, and follow my lead. No shooting unless absolutely necessary.” Sarge didn’t look too happy about those rules, specifically the part where he has to follow Wash’s commands, but he grunts his affirmation. “If you screw this up I won’t hear the end of it from Kimball, Doyle, and Carolina...Mostly Carolina. And nor will you.” Turning away he heaves himself up into the warthog.

You push yourself from against the truck, disappointed the Sergeant (well, Colonel now, ever since Doyle promoted him) was coming along after all. You open the door to the driver’s side as Sarge strides over to you.

“Room for one more?” He grins charmingly.

_No, not charmingly, more like unattractive, yes, or even repulsive! That’s right._

You pull yourself up into the driver seat. “Uh...sure, shotgun’s open,” you say glancing to your recruit as he climbs into the seat. Upon saying such the boy looks up at you questionably before you quickly grab him by the arm and drag him into the middle seat.

“See?” you say gesturing to the passenger side. _Best to keep a barrier between Sarge and me._

Sarge glares at the lanky boy for being so close to you. “Oh no, please don’t move the boy on my account...I’d prefer to be by your side anyway.”

“Just sit shotgun, Sarge.”

“No.”

You raise an unseen eyebrow. “I’m not going to make Gentry move just so you can sit beside me, Sarge.”

“You don’t have to, _I_ will,” he replies.

“Don’t be such a child-” you begin to say, but Wash’s voice interrupts you.

“Let’s go people! We have to get this done before dawn remember?”

You flick your eyes up to your commander to see he was staring at the two of you pointedly.

 

Sarge sat beside you anyway, pressing your designated private against the passenger’s window like he was trying to smother him.

“How’d ya make it up to Captain,” he asks nonchalantly as if he wasn’t trying to crush the teenager into a human-sized pancake and instead just initiating a pleasant conversation. You kept your eyes glued to the road following behind Wash, squinting as you tried to keep track of his vehicle in the dark. Your dim headlights did nothing to help.

“The previous Captain died in battle, I was his best soldier so they put me in charge,” you answer.

“Similar thing happened to me when I became a sergeant! It was during basic training,” the man reminisces. You look at him skeptically, “During basic training?”

“Yep! Had some stiff competition, my final opponent was so dedicated to the war effort he was willing to die on the spot for the cause. Literally!”

Gentry wheezes as air is pressed out of his lungs. He turns to Sarge, an eyebrow raised in question no doubt, “Literally?”

Sarge takes mercy on the boy for a second and stops leaning on him to rehash his incredibly interesting backstory. “Yep! Shot himself then and there! God, so selfless, so brave. He was the perfect candidate for the job!” His voice rose in pitch as he became more emotional over the memory. You watched in disbelief out of the corner of your eye.

“But then, of course, because he had taken his own life, I was the last person standing. By default, I was promoted! I made the grade! But I had one final test to pass. My own drill sergeant, that crafty bastard, was my disguised enemy!”

You slowly turned your head to look at the black armored man as he continued to boast. _Dear God, what the actual fuck?_ You made eye contact with Gentry. You notice him try to scoot just a bit further away from the Colonel even though he was already fully pressed against the car’s door.

“I have to say whoever came up with that trainin’ session was one hell of a trickster, almost had me fooled that it was just a bunch of drills! But ah knew better!”

You were really regretting ever agreeing to Sarge’s deal now. He seemed more like a madman than he ever was. And to think everyone at base believed the two of you were actually together. You wanted to bang your forehead on the steering wheel.

 

Within an hour you reached your destination. You all were parked at the base of a mountain. The compound was two miles up, and up above that was the Pirates’ camp. You all had turned off your headlights to remain unseen by the merc's army. Your radio buzzes as Wash comes through the speakers, “(Y/n), I need Gentry and Sarge to get out here and walk ahead of us, we can’t see if there are any obstructions. Paige has an extra gun for Sarge to use.”

You reach for your communicator but Sarge snatches it from your hand. “No need Washington, I made sure to bring my trusty shotgun!” The radio spits out static before Wash comes back over it, “Your shotgun isn’t long-range Sarge-”

“You’re not long-range!”

Silence follows after that before you hear him speak up again in an irritated voice, “Just get out here and do as I say.”

Gentry is the first to hop out, more than willing to get away from Sarge. The gruff soldier turns to you before he leaves the passenger seat. “I’ll be back Princ-I mean darlin’, don’t worry none about me,” he says. “Oh, trust me I won’t,” you say smirking. You usher him out of his seat and close the door after him. You see his dark figure meet up with your partner ahead of the warthog.

The climb up the hill was slow going, and more than once you saw Sarge showing off for you by lifting heavy rocks over-dramatically. At first, it looked like he just didn’t know how to move rocks like a normal human being, but then after he would move an obstruction you saw him strike a stupid pose. You think Wash yelled at him because he quit doing it halfway up which you were grateful for.

When you all finally reach the plateau you drive the vehicles silently into the tree line. You park your truck just a few meters out from the edge of the woods when the compound came into view. Wash goes further ahead in the warthog. He and Paige creep the jeep towards the very end of the shade that the trees provided before stopping and turning off the engine.

The sky was cloudy, blocking out any possible light, making your job that much easier. The pirates may have night vision goggles, but even with that, from this far down they’d have a hard time spotting you all under the trees. The only problems you’ll run into is when everyone starts entering the outpost and begin to move the boxes of food and supplies out. The risk of being seen skyrockets.

Wash comms you, “Ok, we’re all clear, my heat scan shows that they’re all up on the ridge.”

“Okay, but are there any overlooking the compound?” You wait a moment for him to answer.

“A few, but it’s nothing we can’t sneak past. We have three hours to move those crates and get back down the hillside. Better start now.”

You quietly hop out of the car and leave the door slightly ajar, given that closing it would risk noise. You stalk closer to Wash, Paige, Gentry, and Sarge who are all at the warthog now. When you reach them Wash turns to his recruit.

“Stay here and keep an eye out with Gentry. You both installed your heat vision sensors correct?” They both nod. “Good, (Y/n) and I…” he glances to the older male, “...and Sarge will get the packages. Radio us if you see any suspicious movement up there or down here. I don’t care if it’s a false alarm, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

He turns to face Sarge. “You don’t have the heat vision installed in your helmet so you’re going to have to follow us and be _quiet_. Stay close, and don’t touch anything unless we tell you to.”

Sarge grunts halfheartedly.

“We’re serious, Sarge. We can’t screw this up. We’re too low on food back at base,” you say.

“I got it, Princess, don’t be such a worry wart! I’m fully capable of lifting a few heavy crates!”

Your eye twitches behind your helmet as you stare at him begrudgingly for using your pet name.

Washington opens up a channel on the commlinks that connects to the whole group. “Stay low and in the shadows,” he says quietly. He leads the way, pausing only behind large shrubs as you sneak your way out of the wooded area and into the open.

“How’re we looking Paige?”

It’s silent on the other end while the older of the two recruits examines the cliffside. “Enemy facing East. Don’t advance.”

You all crouch patiently, waiting for her next report. Well, semi-patiently.

“My legs are crampin’, good god just move forward already!”

“No,” Wash answers, his commanding voice leaving no room for argument.

You smirk and turn to look at the Colonel, “What’s wrong? Joints bothering you again?”

“Don’t give me that sass missy,” he growls.

“But it’s part of my charm!” You're not sure where this confident teasing came from, but you were enjoying it if only to watch Sarge get ruffled at being called old.

“While you do have charming qualities, I can’t agree with you on that particular one, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that, or I’ll start referring to you as grandpa.”

“Both of you be quiet!” Wash hisses, turning his head to the side to look at the both of you. “Paige report,” he orders.

“Enemy still facing East, Sir. But a few more soldiers are approaching their position, I think they’re the next shift.”

“Let me know when they switch, that’s our best chance to run for the entrance.”

“Yes, sir.”

The other line is silent for a few seconds. “Now!” You hear Paige’s voice say. The three of you bolt forward towards the north side of the compound, slipping into the gates and sliding up against the closest building.

“Soldiers have been relieved of duty,” Paige reports as soon as you're out of sight.

Washington nods his head, holding his gun close, “What about you Gentry, any movement out in the foliage?”

“No, Sir, nothing to report. Perimeter looks secure.”

“Keep a sharp eye out Private, ‘looks’ and ‘is’ are completely different things and can mean life or death.” Silence stretches on Gentry’s end before he speaks again, an uneasy tone lining his words, “Uh, yes, Sir.”

“Gee, no pressure,” you mutter looking to Washington. “He’s going to need to learn one way or another,” Wash says before creeping along the side of the building. “Doyle said the food crates are in the storage facility towards the right. Should be connected to the main building.”

Following behind Wash, you and Sarge slink around the shadows as silently as a cat. You’re honestly surprised the older soldier is able to keep this quiet. You begin to wonder if he’s actually behind you at all and really just got turned around. You glance back expecting to see him ten paces back, but instead, he’s right on your ass...Staring at said ass.

He jerks his head up when he hears you clear your throat.

“Do you fucking _mind?_ ” You growl, face now flushed red. Thankfully he couldn't see it.

“Not really.” The smugness in his voice is very evident. You’re just about to crack a few more of Sarge’s ribs but before you’re even able to swing Wash comes over the comms.

“Found it.”


	4. Mission Impossible Part 2

Washington is the first to enter the room, working his heat scanner to detect any enemy soldiers. Once he says, “All clear.”, you and Sarge follow after him.

The crates are about half your height and six feet in length. There’s only about nine in the room. You frown at the low number; with two armies to feed this would hardly be enough.

“Is this the only storage facility with food crates?” You ask Wash.

“Doyle said it’s the only one here at this outpost.”

“What about the other Fed compounds?” Sarge questions, walking up to one to of the crates.

“Too far away, not to mention they were besieged by the pirates. Doubt there’s anything left.” Wash helps Sarge lift up one of the crates and maneuvers it towards the door. “(Y/n), check our twelve, any unidentified heat signatures?”

You turn your heat sensor on and peep out of the building, taking your time to check the area around you. Only Gentry and Paige’s figures pop up on the scanners.

“All clear. Paige, how’s the cliff look?”

Your comm clicks as she answers you, “Pirates are overlooking the left of the compound, you’re clear till you reach the front gate.” 

Sarge and Wash move to a box and heave it up off the ground. The two edge their way around the compound, slinking in and out of shadows carefully. You stay at the storage building, guarding the area and waiting for the two came back. It took fifteen minutes before you spot them sneaking around the corner to the front gate. They stay behind the shadow of the crumpled building while they wait for Paige to give them the all clear.

This continues for an hour and a half before you’ve only got two crates left. You and Wash had switched places a couple of times during the process to give each other a break from lifting or standing, but Sarge remained in his position as the lifter. He didn’t like it.

“My dawg gone back is killin’ me,” he huffs as you guide him through the now familiar outpost. You pant, shifting the weight of the crate, “Should’ve lifted with your legs old man.” You laugh at his grumbling response. You constantly check your heat scanner and timer. You have at most an hour to get the rest of the crates back to the loading truck and get the hell out of dodge before anyone notices.

As you both turn the corner to look straight ahead at the cars you see Gentry sneaking his way over with Paige. Your comm buzzes to life.

“Leave it there we’ll grab it. Go back and help Agent Washington with the last one,” Paige says.

“Are you sure?” You ask, glancing up to the cliffside. The same guards as before still overlooked the valley.

“Yes, ma’am, we have this! We’ll get the vehicles ready for you.”

“Alright.”

You both set the heavy crate down and turn back the way you came. “How long till the sun comes up, darlin’?” Sarge asks as you creep along the building and alleyways. You glance up to your clock in the corner of your helmet’s screen again. “Well, Chorus has early mornings, so I’d say worst case scenario is we have thirty minutes.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts, “could be worse.”

Like an ass, he jinxes you all. Not two seconds later Wash comes over the commlinks, “We have movement off the right side of the mountain! Gentry, Paige watch your six!” You hear one of the recruits swear and then footsteps. For a second, you think the footsteps came from the other end of the receiver but then Sarge is in front of you. His hand pushes you back behind him and he points the barrel of his shotgun ahead. Your heart panics for a minute, your fight or flight instincts kicking in as well as the adrenaline that accompanies it. But it was all for nothing because the next millisecond Wash turns the corner and crashes into Sarge’s gun.

“Whoa--hey!”

Washington seems to be just as surprised to see a gun pointed at his chest as you and Sarge are to see Washington instead of a pirate. “Whoops, my bad,” Sarge says, pulling the gun back. 

You move out from behind the colonel to address Wash, “What about the last crate?”

Wash takes a split second to shake off the shock of running into a gun and looks to you. “No time, those pirates must’ve caught on because there’s more than a few coming down the ridge.” 

“Well, that’s not good,” Sarge says. You toss him a withering look. The three of you hasten your way to the front gate spotting the two privates shoving a crate into the truck.

“Start the engine, we’re leaving!” Wash instructs. Paige and Gentry gladly follow said orders. Just before you reach the gate and bolt out into the open air you flick your eyes up to the pirates’ camp. The guards are  _ definitely  _ looking down in your direction.

“Bob and weave boys!” You inform the two beside you.

Once you all exit the compound and make a mad rush to the cars, bullets start flying from above. You hear the sound of the warthog starting and the loading truck door slamming shut.

“Sir, we’re ready!” Gentry shouts. Wash ducks under the tree line, running up to the hog. Turning he calls over to you and Sarge.

“Sarge you’re with me, (Y/n) guard that truck with your life! Paige go with (Y/n)!” You skid over to the driver’s cab, narrowly dodging a bullet. “Damn,” you hiss. You grab ahold of the handlebar on the passenger’s side and plant your feet firmly on the truck’s running board. You take the gun from your back and hold it in hand while you comm Paige, “You on board?” You hear someone hop onto the back of the truck’s fender before her voice echoes in your helmet, “Yes ma’am!”

You glance at your scanner once more; the red figures of the pirates are now a little over half a football field away from everyone.

“Gas it, Gentry!” You order.

The car peels out of the brush, heading back towards the ledge you had come up from. You glance at the rearview mirror as you speed down the mountain. Wash is bringing up the rear and you spot Sarge clambering up to the back of the hog, grabbing ahold of the turret.

Just as the truck makes it down the first couple of feet shots ring out once more. You glance behind you to see the pirates turning down to follow you. They were in their own warthogs. Plasma blasts shoot off from every angle, lighting up the darkened surroundings for the briefest of moments.

You steady yourself against the side of the truck while you cock your gun. Once ready, you turn back around to face the onslaught of fire. Taking aim you shoot for the enemies’ tires and the gunman. You hear the turret firing from Wash’s direction as well. Sarge was no doubt giving the pirates hell.

The vehicle lurches and shakes violently as it speeds down the rough terrain, causing you to almost lose your grip on your handhold. You look at Gentry to see how he’s fairing. With his helmet on, it’s impossible to tell, but you can see his shoulders are tensed and his hands have the steering wheel in a death grip. 

Suddenly your comm comes to life.

“We can’t go back to base with them on our asses like this, we need to cut them off!” Washington’s voice was urgent and strained. Looking back you see him swerving the car to avoid plasma blasts aimed at his tires.

“Dammit, Wash quit moving us like that!” You hear Sarge shout over the radio. “I can’t get a clear shot!”

Out of the fading dark, a bright red bullet flies towards the truck’s rear, slamming into the side. Paige shouts in pain. Quickly you twist around and search for her. You don’t see her on the road or on the back of the bumper, but you do see her gun tumble out of view. 

“Paige! Paige, are you alright?!” You press urgently.

She grunts in agony before she answers back, “I’m hit--” She curses under her breath.

“That blast would’ve incinerated you!” Gentry says, panic obvious in his voice. “How--”

“Plasma missed...but the molten metal flying out sure didn’t,” she growls, keeping her tears back.

“Are you still on board?” you ask, worried.

“Yeah-Yeah, I’m still on.”

“Where are you hit, Private?” Wash asks.

“A-arm, it burns--” She gasps in pain.

Another shot hits the top of the trailer, shaking it unforgivingly. Gentry swerves dangerously close to the edge of the cliff as he course corrects. You hear Sarge shout something and then the turret continuously go off. Turning you watch one of the pirates’ warthogs crash into the mountain wall. Sarge whoops in victory.

Smiling with him, you about-face to the front of the road. The early morning light lets you see the terrain, and your eyes happen to lock onto a specific structure. A rock shelf sat above the narrow pass just about a quarter of the way down. It was a Godsend from heaven.

“Sarge, Wash! There’s an overhang up ahead. If we hit it just right we can block them off!” Silence follows as Wash searches for the shelf to confirm your find.

“Where?”

“Just up ahead, maybe 400 feet?” 

There’s a lapse in speaking while Wash considers this.

“They’re too close!” Wash shouts back. “It won’t work!”

“You got a better idea?” you growl. “We can’t handle another blast!” Glancing back to the rear you spot the large bullet holes the space pirates’ guns made. It was slowly growing bigger. Wash doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Alright, Sarge get ready!” he commands. You twist forward once again, messaging Paige, “Hold on like your life depends on it Private...Because it kind of does.”

“Pedal to the metal, Gentry!” Washington says. The truck lurches forward at a dangerous speed. You hold on tightly to the handlebar, trying to keep your balance. Just as you and the front cab go under the overhang you yell, “Now!”

The turret rapid fires at the rocks, causing the large shelf to come crumbling down. You, Gentry, and Paige pass safely under before the rocks can even reach the ground, but Wash and Sarge barely scrape past by the skin of their teeth. You hear them shout out as a few of the rocks hit the warthog. Their headlights beam through the dust as the hog shakily catches up with the hauler. You let out a relieved breath at seeing them both still alive.

“Haha! Suck it dirtbags! Red always wins!” Sarge crows loudly. You laugh at his words, shaky from the adrenaline of the chase. Gentry lets off the gas slowly, turning to look at you through the passenger window.

“Are we safe?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Wash says, answering for you, “We should be good now.” Looking through the rearview mirror you see the boulders successfully blocking off the pass. You let out a shaky laugh, “Can’t believe that worked.” 

“Let’s just be glad it did,” Wash breathes, slowing his own vehicle down. “We’re not out of the fire yet though. They know what we were doing, and they’ll try to follow us. We’ll have to go the long way around.” Paige whimpers in misery at the news. 

“Don’t worry Paige, we’ll get you patched up soon,” Wash tells her.

When you reach the bottom of the mountain you stop for a brief moment and take Paige into the warthog. Gentry, shaking like a leaf, hops out of the driver’s seat of the truck. “I’ll let you drive,” he says. You nod as he walks off to go help his fellow soldier, as he does Sarge comes up to you.

“Quick thinking there Prin-Uh, (Y/n).” You let out a breath, “Thanks. Good job on your part too though. I’m surprised, I didn’t think you knew how to aim that thing.”

“Oh I didn’t, I’m usually the one driving the chupa. Simmons or Grif do the shootin’. That was just blind luck.” You take a minute to absorb that. “How comforting,” you say making a face. Sarge walks around you and towards the passenger side of the cab. “Shotgun,” he says, opening the door. You climb in with him. Glancing at the rearview mirror you check the hole in the side of the trailer. It was much bigger than before. 

“Uh, hey, Wash?” you say, trepidation on your voice.

“What?” he answers back.

“Those plasma blasts got us good, and the bullet holes are getting bigger…”

“We can make it back in time before it gets worse.”

“I swear to God Wash if this truck disintegrates while we’re still in it...” you let the unsaid threat hang in the air.

“Relax, Lopez made sure to account for the merc’s weapons; the metal is strong enough to dampen the effects.” He pauses. “Mostly...” 

“Right,” you say, blowing air out of your mouth. After a few minutes of waiting, Wash drives out in front of you. Gentry, now standing behind the turret, waves for you to follow. Your eyes flick to Paige as you roll forward. Her arm is bandaged up in gauze, but you can still see the bright red flush on it from the molten metal hitting her. You wince in empathy for her.

The drive back is long, putting you on edge every second you glance back at the trailer. It got to the point where you had to ask Sarge for updates so you didn’t crash in the process of checking the damage. “Relax sweetheart, I got this,” he says, resting his elbow on the open window frame. Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude, “Don’t call me sweetheart.” He twist his head to stare at you, “Missy, I’m running out of nicknames here, you already took my favorite one away from me!” You let out a laugh, “And yet you still use it.” “Old habits die hard, Princess.” You purse your lips, “Now you’re just doing it on purpose.”

“Why, I don’t know what yer talkin’ bout,  _ Princess _ .” He exaggerates his speech when he says your nickname. You know he’s just teasing you, so instead of getting angry at him you just laugh with him. It helps calm your nerves if you’re being honest, but you’ll never let him know that.

After two hours you all near the entrance of the Fed’s base. Just as you’re fifteen feet from the gate, you hear a loud thunk as one of the food crates falls out of the back. You break quickly, turning to look at Sarge, about to ask him to hop out and check out the damage fully. Before you can get the words out he’s already hopping out of the vehicle. You check the mirrors as he runs to the back and inspects the crate first before observing the back of the trailer.

“Cleanup on aisle 9,” he says. “The whole floor back here is cut in half!”

Wash comes over the headset, “Gentry, drive Paige in and get her to Dr. Grey. (Y/n) keep going, I’ll help Sarge get the crate inside.”

You watch Gentry and Wash switch places before the warthog speeds off to the loading bay. You follow close behind, sparing one last glance at Sarge who’s heaving up the crate with Washington’s help.

When you roll into the garage you immediately put the truck in park and hop out the cab. You rush around to the back of the trailer to see the damage for yourself.

_ Oh, come on. _

A crate topples over as the floor crumbles underneath it. It lands with a loud clang against the floor, alerting the mechanic, Lopez, inside the garage. Not two seconds later you hear the robot walk up beside you.

“¿Qué diablos hiciste?”

You sigh, slipping off your helmet. “The mercs’ lackeys were sitting right above us. What did you expect?”

“Un camión intacto. Se supone que tú y Agent Washington son buenos soldados, no idiotas.”

“Thanks,” you reply sarcastically.

You run your gloved hand through your hair, making it worse than it already was. As Lopez goes to unhitch the cab from the trailer you spot a couple of privates in line at the armory staring at the spectacle. “Hey!” you shout to them. They turn expectantly to you. “Since you’ve got nothing better to do but stare, why don’t you get over here and help me get these food crates into the mess hall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> "¿Qué diablos hiciste?"  
> What the hell did you do?  
> "Un camión intacto. Se supone que tú y Agent Washington son buenos soldados, no idiotas."  
> An intact truck. You and Agent Washington are supposed to be good soldiers, not idiots.
> 
> If any of this is translated wrong just let me know and I'll fix it!


	5. Offers

Popping your back, you stand up straight. All of the rations have been unloaded and placed into the mess hall for the cooks to store away. Although your mission is considered complete, you still weren’t done. Kimball and Doyle scheduled a mission debriefing as soon as you arrived back, wanting all the details to best prepare for another recovery mission.

While this was one of the necessary parts after an operation, it was by far the most boring and excruciating one. You don’t feel like reliving the experience on paper.

Exiting the cafeteria, you walk briskly to the war room, already late. When you enter the room the co-leaders spare you a glance before returning their attention back to Washington. Although it’s a war room, there are no tables or chairs to be found, so you simply stand beside Sarge and Gentry. You clasp your hands behind your back, keeping your spine straight as possible in the presence of your leaders.

The meeting drags on longer than you want, and you aren’t the only one who’s ready to die on the spot. Sarge shifts from foot to foot restlessly, not bothering to hold in his sigh of boredom. You expect Kimball to berate him for the act, but she only spares him a stern look before writing down the rest of Wash’s notes. He’s only now at the part about the heat scanners. 

“They worked fine, but I think we need more reconnaissance before we do something like this again. It was pure luck that those two soldiers were the next shift.”

At that, your eyes widen slightly. So you all could’ve been shot down before you could even start? Lovely. Why would he risk something like that anyway?  _ Maybe because he’s a former freelancer and has done calculated risks before? _ Well...yeah, you guess, but still, that was risky.

“It’s hard to do when their tech vastly outranks ours. We don’t have many men stealthy enough to execute the operation as smoothly as yours did,” Kimball says.  _ Haha, yeah ‘smoothly’. _

“We could set up a class on reconnaissance…?” Doyle offers, turning to Kimball for approval.

“Maybe,” her tone suggests that she won’t be considering it. You see Doyle’s expression twist to impatience, but he keeps quiet.

Sarge turns to peek at you while the two leaders continue to speak with Wash. You raise an eyebrow in question when you notice his look. He mouths, ‘Shoot me’. You crack a smile but simply turn your attention back to the topic at hand.

Sarge continuously becomes less and less respectable and is now lightly and slowly tapping his head against the wall of the room. You can tell the noise is making Wash irritated. Subtly, you lean back the few feet away that the old soldier is at and pull his arm gently towards you. You guide him back beside you. He grumbles under his breath like a proper grouchy grandpa would. You hold back a snort.

At long last, Kimball closes the meeting, dismissing you all from duty for the day to catch up on sleep or to recuperate. Sarge happily exits the room, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along the hallway. He pulls you towards the cafeteria.

“Whoa, hey, simmer down cowboy!” you say, trying to take your wrist back from him.

He whirls his head to face you, “Cowboy? I’m a space marine! Get yer facts right missy!”

You scoff under your breath, pulling your wrist at last free from his grip. “You don’t need to tow me there, you know?” You jest.

“Dawg gone it, woman, I can’t wait any longer! My stomach’s growling and I have to answer it!”

“You’re starting to sound like Grif, Sir,” you laugh.

He  _ bristles. _ Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You’ve both stopped walking now and he looks at you like you spoke blasphemy against God Himself. 

“I am nothing like that lazy, good for nuthin’, fat glutton! He’s a disgrace to the Red Team! I’m ten times--no--a thousand times better than that dirtbag!” His voice is a low growl, causing your stomach to flip unexpectedly and a bolt electricity shoots up your spine. You didn’t expect this to be his reaction to your jab at all. Hell, you threw old man jokes at him 24/7 and he’s never phased. But God forbid you to compare him to Grif!

Your shock must show on your face because he quickly shakes his head, waving unsurely with his hands. He actually looks ashamed. “Uh, sorry...I just don’t--”

“Don’t like being compared to Grif. I get it,” you laugh it off awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it, I shouldn’t have said anything,” you dismiss. 

He quietly accepts your words, but you can feel his eyes on you the whole way to the mess hall. You’re not sure why your heart is racing, but you chalk it up to being shouted at by the larger man.

You both grab a tray when you reach the dining hall, gathering your food from the counter. You make it through the line faster--you aren’t as picky as the Colonel is-- and shuffle to an empty table towards the wall, landing with a heavy sigh. Picking up your spoon you scoop up some grits and chew them slowly. Definitely not the most delicious thing in here, but you couldn't expect eggs for breakfast every day. It was one of those special treats you all were given once a month. Ignoring the bland taste, you take another bite. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sarge carrying his own food tray towards you. He sets himself down, sighing happily to be resting his legs. You consider making a crack about his old joints again but decide against it. It might be too soon to start with the snarky comments again. The hallway was still fresh in your mind and you’re sure it’s the same for him.

Sarge chews his food quietly and you watch him do so. Your eyes trace his jaw’s hard lines, as it moves. You take note of the early morning scuff lining it. You wonder briefly how’d he look with a beard like Grif’s. The thought of food constantly stuck in it makes you cringe and you shove the thought away immediately. 

Next is his nose. It’s slightly off-kilter as if it’s been broken a couple of times. It suits him in a rugged way, you suppose. A scar traces down from his hairline to his brow in a jagged line. A couple more small spots litter his face like it was cut by shattered glass.

In the back of your mind, you realize how creepy this probably is, staring at him, but you don’t stop. Your eyes continue to map out his face as if the organs have a mind of their own. Against your will they trail down to his neck and his broad shoulders, following the lines of more scars. 

_ God, what am I doing? _ You come to your senses and tear your gaze away from Sarge, your face already feeling heated. You pray he didn’t notice. If he did, he says nothing. Now, not so sure where to rest your eyes, you stare at your grits.  _ Not as attractive. _

As soon as the thought comes to the front of your mind you almost sputter aloud.  _ Sarge is  _ not _ attractive.  _ You reprimand yourself sternly. 

_ Right, that’s why you totally weren’t drooling over his incredibly broad, muscular shoulders. _ Your inner voice shoots back.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glance up at Sarge once more. Okay, damn, how did you not notice that till now? The better question is, why the hell are you noticing at  _ all? _ Nothing’s changed at all with either of you so why the sudden interest?

“(Y/n)?”

The sound of Sarge’s voice makes you jump. You look at him, cheeks dusted with red, embarrassed by your reaction. Sarge only chuckles at you, “Looked like you were staring off into space there little lady.” You thread your fingers through your hair, flashing a flustered smile, “Yeah, sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says, brushing aside your apology, “I just wanted to ask you what you’re doing the rest of the day.” 

You pause. “You mean for a date?” 

“Obviously,” he states. 

“What? The mission wasn’t a good enough of a first date?”  you smirk.

He stops, bewildered, “You...Wait, you thought that was our first date? Well, Lord woman why didn’t you tell me I would’ve made it even better!” You raise an eyebrow, amused. You were just teasing him, but now you were curious where this was going to go.

“We could’ve thrown grenades at those bastards--took turns with the turret!” You press your lips together, hiding a smile. As entertaining as it was though, you take pity on the old man. “Sarge,  _ Sarge _ ,” You laugh, holding out a hand to stop his constant flow of words. “I was just joking. I didn’t think it was a date.”

He pauses. “What?”

You let out a puff of air, still smiling, “I don’t exactly consider being shot at and participating in a high-speed car chase a date.” He stares at you in shock. You stare back at him, confused by his expression. 

“Are you kidding? That’s the best kind of date!” He exclaims at last. You blink in surprise.  “The adrenaline, the blood, the glory of victory! What more could a man want!?” 

_ Wow. _ You shovel another spoonful of grits into your mouth, pretending to agree with him. 

“One date down, four more to go then?” you question, silently hoping he’d be dumb enough to say yes.

“Of course not! After all I’m picking the dates!”

_ Hm. Well, can’t blame a girl for trying. _

“Back to my earlier question--What do you got planned for today?”

You sigh inwardly, seeing as there wasn’t any real way to avoid the inevitable. “Well, I would like to get in a few extra hours of sleep after this,” you say.

Sarge nods his head, “Not a bad idea, feelin’ wore out too.” A spark glints in his eyes suddenly, causing you to tilt your head in suspicion.

“How ‘bout we just sleep together? We could head back to my quarters--”

“Not a chance.” You can’t believe he’d be so bold. Not a single date has passed and he’s trying to sleep with you already. That’s more Tucker’s style than Sarge’s. Maybe he’s been hanging around him recently. You finish your water and stand up with your tray. Sarge rushes to follow you with his own.

“Oh, C’mon, doesn’t have to mean anything! It’s just two people sharing a bed to sleep!”

“Right,” you reply sarcastically. You empty your tray, placing it up on the conveyor belt to be taken back to the kitchen. Crossing your arms, you look at Sarge while he clumsily disposes of his own trash and dishes.

“What’s wrong with two friends sharing a bed!? Totally pulmonic!”

You crinkle your nose in confusion. “You mean platonic?”

“That’s what I said!”

You snort, shifting your weight to the other foot. “Sarge, you yourself have made it obvious that you don’t harbor platonic feelings for me, but romantic ones!”

“Oh good, I was worried I wasn’t being obvious enough.” You’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. You decide on ‘or not’.

“My answer is still ‘No.’”

He struggles for another argument to change your mind. His eyes focus on something over your shoulder when he can’t think of anything to say. You raise an eyebrow. His face twists into one of worry or panic.

Confused, you turn your head 90 degrees to spot none other than Simmons, Grif, and Tucker, looking at the two of you. You see Simmons quickly lower his hand signals from view once he notices your gaze. Grif says something to the man, most likely, “Smooth” in response to his guilty face. Tucker is less forgiving and, quite frankly, lewder; putting up two hands to make a sexual gesture.  _ That little shit. _

You twist your head back to look at Sarge accusingly.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, trying his damnedest to look innocent.

“Why were Captain Doormat, Lazy Mcgee, and Fuckboy looking over here like they were a couple of high school boys acting as wing-men?” You clarify. 

“I don’t know whatcher talkin’ ‘bout.” His voice almost cracks and his accent sounds thicker. You want to laugh because Sarge’s accent betraying his lying is fucking hilarious but you’re trying to remain angry, so you press the urge to snicker down.

“You might want to inform your wing-men that they suck at their job because now there’s definitely no chance.”

His eyes light up and you regret your choice of words immediately. “So you were considerin’ it! Ha! I knew it, no one can resist the incredibly handsome and powerful Red Team Leader!” His voice echoes in the room and many heads turn to stare, the constant drone of voices quieting. Your face flares red.

“Sarge!” you hiss under your breath.

“What?” He looks at you bewildered.

Your eyes sweep across the room anxiously--everyone that turned to stare at Sarge is beginning to turn away, dismissing it as another one of his outbursts. Letting out a sigh of relief, you glare at the man. Without a second thought, you walk out of the dining hall, knowing the Colonel would follow.

Sure enough, he does, but not before giving Simmons and Tucker a thumbs up.

“Hey, hang on missy, wait up!” 

You stop out in the hallway, a good 6 meters away from the door and prying eyes. Sarge is still grinning at you like nothing happened in the mess hall.

“Are you serious?” Venom drips from your voice, but the man doesn’t pick up on it.

His eyes light up and his smug grin is back on. “Damn serious. Your room or mine?” He’s put a hand to the left of your head, leaning down to your height. Your eyes narrow.

“No,” you growl, “Not what I meant.” You step away from him, arms crossed. He’s still in his position, blinking at your refusal.

“Why the hell not?” he asks.

“Because we barely know each other, we haven’t even had a real date, and because I’m not interested!?”

“So?”

“Oh, my god.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “You don’t have any shame do you?”

“Not since I was 12.” The blatant honesty behind the statement makes you stare at him. The hell happened when he was 12? Shaking your head you dismiss the curiosity--now’s not the time.

You take a deep breath, “Look, I’m beyond exhausted. I’m going to go to bed-- _ without you _ ,” you add when he opens his mouth, “I’ll see you later. Got it?”

He pauses and you wait for him to argue.

“Is that two hours from now later, or a few days from now later?” he inquires at last.

“I don’t know! Just give me time to not want to punch you in the throat, okay?!”

He quietly nods his head, his brows furrowing in concern. Or maybe that’s just his pride being damaged and he’s trying to hide it. Turning away from him, you make your way back to your room. 

When you close the door, you strip out of your sweaty armor. You never got the chance to change after the debriefing since Sarge dragged you to breakfast. Once free of the armor, you flop down on your standard mattress and sheets, burying your face in it. Exhausted, you close your eyes. The last image in your mind before you fall unconscious is of you strangling Tucker, Grif, and Simmons. You couldn’t wait to make that a reality.

 

When you open your eyes again, it feels as if only five minutes have passed. Looking at your clock, you can see it’s actually been four hours. Sighing, you rise from your stiff bed, stretching your limbs. It’s almost noon and the mess hall closes at 12:30; you can still make it in for lunch if you hurry. Dragging yourself from your bed as quickly as you can muster in your groggy state, you walk to your bathroom. You straighten your hair in the small mirror, combing out the tangles. You then proceed to change out of your sweaty clothing--the ones you wore under your amour-- and slide into your standard federal army jumpsuit. You check your alarm clock when you’re done. 

12:11 P.M.

Better leave now before they refuse service. The cooks were pretty picky about serving times, not wanting to waste energy to keep prepared food warm for the late soldiers. 

Rushing out of your room, you speed walk down Armonia’s long hallways till you reach the large spacious cafeteria. There are a few people still milling about. You’re grateful for the quiet murmuring rather than the louder buzz during rush hour.

Grabbing a vegetable plate from the kitchen window, you take a seat at a corner table. You glance around, confirming that none of the reds, specifically Sarge, are in here with you. Your shoulders relax when none of them appear to be present. Digging into your food, you relish in the alone time.

Once finished, you dispose of your trash and turn your tray and dishes in. When you exit the mess hall you bump into Simmons. Almost immediately he backs up a good distance from you and your angry glare. “Oh! Uh...Hi,” he grins sheepishly. You scowl in return. He stutters, “Ok, so I know you’re pretty pissed at us, but--”

“The actual Hell Simmons?” you growl, crossing your arms. He stops, looking at you unsurely. “You’re supposed to be my friend, and yet your encouraging Sarge to sleep with me?”

He holds up a finger, “Okay, in my defense, that was Tucker’s idea, I was trying to tell Sarge to stop-- and it’s not my fault! Sarge is still my commanding officer, I have to follow his orders!” he argues, his voice cracking.

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, “He ordered you to be his wing-man?”

“Yes!”

“Why don’t I believe you,” you say sarcastically.

“Okay, okay, fair enough, but I’m here because Sarge wants you to meet us in the Sparring room.”

At this, you squint at the redhead. “Why? And what do you mean ‘us’?”

“He said I can’t tell you, he wants to explain it himself.”

Your curiosity is peaked. What could he have planned?

You soon find out when Simmons walks in with you to a small room attached to the main gym. Sarge is snapping at Grif, nothing new, in the middle of the sparring mats while Lopez and Donut are sitting on the sidelines.

“What is this?” you ask.

Sarge turns at the sound of your voice. “Ah! (Y/n)! You’re here!” 

Simmons goes to stand beside his officer while Grif tries to walk off. He’s pulled back by Sarge’s strong grip. “What did I just say, you lousy galoot!?” Grif only groans like a child.

“This,” Sarge says, keeping a firm grip on Grif’s arm, “Is your revenge!”

“What?” you blink.

“It was my idea,” Donut says, swinging his feet, eating some snap peas. You swivel your head to look at him. “I figured you'd be angry, and I know from personal experience that I would want to choke Sarge if he offered to sleep with me! So I set this up for you!” Somehow you feel like he’s talking about a different scenario rather than the one you’re in now. Everyone is also uncomfortable with the statement.

"Donut, shut up, you're making this weirder than it needs to be," Sarge commands.

“Uhm, okay, so what exactly am I doing here?” you ask, feeling very awkward and wanting a better explanation.

“Kicking our asses,” Sarge says.

You turn your head back to him, shocked. “I get to what now?”

“Kick. Our. Asses.” He explains slowly. "You said you wanted to punch me in the throat earlier. Well now's your chance! And as an added bonus, you get to punch Grif and Simmons! God, I wish I were in your shoes."

He grins when he sees fire light up in your eyes at the idea. “Whaddya say?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, I understand you letting me whoop their asses,” you say gesturing to the two captains, “But I’m surprised you’d let me do it to you!”

He shrugs, “Figured I owed it to you.” He sounded sincere, which is impossible--it's _Sarge_. Even so, you can't help but smile at the offer.  At least you don’t have to hunt the three of them down to give them a piece of your mind...Wait, where’s Fuckboy?

“Hold on, where’s Tucker?” you ask, looking around the room.

“That smart asshole left before Sarge had a chance to grab him. He’s off with Carolina and Wash,” Grif says, looking incredibly miserable to be here. Sarge growls low in his throat. It sounded almost feral. You ignore the electric shock that goes down your spine again, keeping your face neutral.

“Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll get 'em for ya next time,” he reassures you. You chuckle. You can’t believe this is your life now. A crazed old man trying to win your heart in anyway possible that he’s willing to let you beat him up--as well as his soldiers.  _ How thoughtful. _ As crazy as this was, you couldn’t deny that you didn’t want to partake.

“Okay, I’m in,” you say, grinning ear to ear. Any grogginess you might’ve felt from your nap is all but gone, replaced by adrenaline and eagerness. Oh, you were  _ so _ going to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made this chapter a wee bit longer since you guys had to wait so long for the update, sorry about that!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	6. Sparring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! Sorry for the wait! Lopez does speak again in this chapter, however brief, but the translation is in the end notes.

“Knew you’d be for it!” Sarge beams proudly. Swiftly, he drags Grif from his side and pushes him in front of you. “Might I suggest Grif as your first victim?”

Grif suddenly looks uneasy. In nothing but the standard fatigues, he has no protective armor to help dampen your hits. He has every right to be apprehensive about the spar. Taking a minute to watch Simmons and Sarge walk to the sidelines you wonder if Grif is actually allowed to fight back. _Surely, Sarge wouldn’t make it that unfair._

Glancing to the old man you see the evil glint in his eyes as he watches Grif. _Okay, yeah, he’d totally do that._ While you feel just a bit of remorse for fighting the defenseless man, the Hawaiian is much safer fighting you rather than the Colonel. Your goal isn’t to kill him after all. Your spar partner must know all of this because he slouches his shoulders in resignation. Sighing he directs his eyes up to yours, “Let’s get this over with.”

You take up a fighting stance, expecting him to do the same, but instead, he stands there. _Is he going to just lay down and take it?_ You take a large step forward, preparing to follow through with a punch. Before you can even make contact Grif ducks, moving backward away from you. He looks a bit panicked. You try again, planning to swing left. Once more Grif dodges, but you do manage to graze his arm rather than the planned blow to his chest. You’re surprised someone of his size is able to avoid your swings at all.

“Stop tiptoeing and get to the good part! The part that has Grif’s face in the floor!” Sarge complains. You roll your eyes at his words and rush forward at the Captain. He yelps ducking down, crawling away from you. In response, you bring up your foot and kick him in the stomach. He flops to his side.

Rushing forward again you pull back your foot to hit him in the ribs. Grif’s eyes widen in alarm. Rolling away from your radius he stands back up. He attempts to run further away but you grab him by his arm before he has the chance. Slamming him back into the floor, he grunts in pain, teeth clenched. You feel a slight twinge of empathy for him. Leaning down you mutter a brief apology for the pain to appease your guilty conscious. He only manages a wheeze in response. He doesn’t stand up, making you frown in concern. Did you knock the wind out of him?

“Grif! Get back up you ain’t done yet!” Sarge scowls from beside Lopez. You glance over at them both. The robot may not have a face but you can tell he’s enjoying the show. Watching the orange soldier being slammed hard into the mats must be satisfying for him. You suddenly came to the conclusion that this was Lopez’s idea, not Donut’s. It could’ve been dumb luck that Donut translated it right or a happy miscommunication. Either way, Lopez got to watch his team get the snot beat out of them. He must be having a field day.

Turning to stare down at Grif you wait for him to stand back up. He grunts, pushing himself from the floor. Before he’s able to fully straighten himself back up you throw a punch his way. Shocked, he flings his upper torso back away from your fist. Successfully evading your hand, he comes back up, a smile on his face. “Ha!” His victory shout is short lived when your fists continue to fly at him in succession.

You are experienced in hand to hand combat, it used to be a pass time with your old recruit group, but Grif wasn’t. He took the hits to his chest and arms before he finally put up his own arms to block the throws. He backs up while you continue to throw punches and an occasional foot to his hip. He may be sloppy but he’s getting the hang of it. Gracelessly.

Just as he begins to become confident with his blocking and his movements, you bring your foot up and slam it into his side. Taken off guard he flies to his left, shouting in alarm. You let out a breath, shaking your hands loose while he rolls a bit away.

“Haha! Show him how it’s done, Princess!” Sarge crows.

The sound of the familiar, but hated nickname makes you pause. Twisting to look back at the group you cast the silver-haired man a stern look. “What’d we talk about Sarge? No nicknames.”

“Eh, you’ll make me feel it when I get in the ring with you,” he counters, waving your glare off. You frown at his dismissiveness. _What was the point of making the rule about my nickname if he’s never going to follow it?_

Seeing that you’re distracted, Grif takes his chance to run behind you. Tackling you, he wraps his arms around your shoulders. _Guess he is allowed to fight back._ He attempts to bring you down with him onto the floor, but it fails. The shock you experienced was quickly replaced with instinct. Gripping his wrist you swivel your body to the side and slam a hand down to his crotch.

Immediately, he loses his grip and you take the opportunity to flip him back onto the ground. The sound echoes in the room and you hear a chorus of ‘Ooo!” in response.

Pulling away from your bent position you pant, tilting your head to the side. “Ready to tap yet?” You ask him. He’s groaning, cupping his bruised balls. “Tap,” he wheezes.

“Aw c’mon, you can hardly call that a good ass whooping,” Sarge complains. You flick your eyes back to him and a playful smile crosses your lips.

“Let’s see how long _you_ last out here.” You cast a long, critical look at his physique as you say the words. He pauses. “That was another crack at my age wasn’t it?” Your smirk grows bigger while he frowns.

After helping Grif up onto his feet he limps to the benches by himself, hands over his groin.

“Guess you’re up then, Simmons!” Sarge exclaims once Grif sits down. The tall, lanky redhead jumps in alarm, “W-What?”

Sarge yanks the boy up off the bench, leading him towards you. He tries to struggle against his officer. “Oh come on! I’m fragile!” The colonel only scoffs, holding him in place while he tries to tug away.

You raise an eyebrow at the spectacle, “It’s not like you can’t dodge my hits, Simmons.”

“Yeah? Well, you saw how that turned out for Grif!” You glance to the orange soldier, currently being pestered by Donut who’s trying to apply an ‘ice pack’ to his pelvic region.

“Besides, last time I fought a military girl she kicked my ass to Blood Gulch and back! And once around the sun for good measure!” He squeaks.

You glance to the other Reds questioningly. “Agent Texas,” Grif explains, wincing at the shared memory. He curls a little bit more over his groin.

Oh. You’d heard little about her from Carolina and Washington. Neither liked to talk about her much, so the majority of what you know is just that Carolina hates her and that she was a former Freelancer with them. You have no doubt that she was badass if she was affiliated with Project Freelancer.

You turn back to Simmons, taking not that Sarge has already left the area and is back in his seat. Your lanky friend has put himself in a poor fighting stance, looking at you apprehensively. “Please be gentle,” he whimpers. You almost want to laugh at the sight. You’ve known them all to be tough fighters on the battlefield, but you’ve never got to see them cower in person like this.

“Just remember to fight back,” you say, taking your own stance, “and you’ll be fine.”

“Not the answer I was hoping for but okay,” he says as you circle one another. You wait for him to make a move, seeing as it would give you an opening, but he doesn’t. Alternatively, he continues to circle you. Frowning, you decide you’ll have to make the first move like with Grif. This wasn’t as entertaining as you had hoped. You wanted a little bit of a fight, otherwise, your ‘revenge’ wouldn’t be as sweet.

You attempt to make a rush forward at Simmons, but he squeaks and quickly puts space between you. Every time you advance forward and try to swing, tackle, or trip him he’s across the other side of the room at a safe distance. At last, you drop your stance. “Uh, Simmons?”

“Yeah?”

“The goal is to attack, not cower. Hell, I can’t even call this defending yourself, you’re just running away.”

“I’m not cowering I’m...I’m planing-planning my next move! Yeah!”

Grif snorts from the back of the room. The redhead shoots him a glare.

Running forward you swing your fist, taking advantage of his momentary distraction. It lands to his side. Grunting, he backs up, putting out his hands as if to keep you at a distance. Grabbing his wrist, you turn his arm and pin it behind his back. Now behind him, you hold the position while he struggles against your hold. When you finally push him away from you he tries to run away again. You cut him off. Circling close around him, you hit his chest, ribs, and back. Keeping your contact light in hopes it will encourage him to throw one back.

After a few seconds of this, he apparently has had enough. Bringing back his elbow he jabs you in the collarbone. Backing up, you press a hand over the area. You both stare at each other in surprise. You laugh.

“Good,” you say, “Was beginning to worry you wouldn’t have the balls.” It’s light banter, meant to further encourage him. He takes the teasing with grace and puts his fists up. He appears to still be shaking but at least you goaded him into defending himself.

You start forward again, sidestepping him when he swings a horribly aimed throw. His cross leaves him open. Swiftly, you prod a hand into his ribs. He yelps at the feeling, stumbling to his left. Moving your leg to the back of his knees you topple him over.

When you circle to his front you notice he quickly covers his crotch. While the idea was tempting, Simmons was after all your good friend and you weren’t without mercy. Instead of kicking him in his genitals you offer him a hand up from the floor. He eyes your hand with suspicion, with good reason. Neither of you had said ‘Tap’ yet, but against his better judgment, he takes your hand.

Yanking him up, you keep a hold of his arm. Using gravity to help you, you twist his body back down over you. Crying out in confusion, Simmons lands on the mats with a loud sound.

He groans in defeat as he lays there staring at the ceiling. When you try to take a step forward towards him, he scuttles back. “I tap,” he puffs quickly, sweat glistening on his face. You let out a quiet sigh, nodding. You help him up. Honestly, you were hoping he would keep going, as it’s been a while since you’ve had a good spar partner.

Once Simmons sits himself down you turn to look at Sarge. He’s domineering Grif about tapping out sooner than Simmons did. “This is why Simmons is second in command and why you’re the bullet decoy! You can’t even last two seconds in a hand to hand combat!” The Hawaiian looks irritated at the Colonel’s words, if not bored with the usual hate speech. You suppose he’s immune to his words by now.

As ‘interesting’ as their conversation was, you were ready to continue on with the spar. Clearing your throat you gain the Commander’s attention. “You’re up Sarge,” you say.

He stands up, turning to his teammates. “Watch and learn ladies,” he grins. You scoff under your breath at his cockiness.

“Esto debería ser bueno,” Lopez comments, crossing his arms. The corner of your mouth twitches up at his words. Usually, when Sarge was confident about something, it always ended poorly for him. Everyone was aware of this, meaning you all knew when to expect a good show.

Turning to stand back on the mats, you assume Sarge will follow you onto the floor. Unexpectedly, out of the corner of your eye, you spot him reach for the hem of his shirt.

You freeze mid-turn and stare in bewilderment. _What is he doing?_ You watch in disbelief as Sarge proceeds to pull off his dark army green shirt. _What the hell, is he really going to be this extra?_ You’re not sure what to do in this situation, so you glance to the others for help. They stare in listlessness as if he did this all the time and they were accustomed to it. The only one who was showing a true reaction was a certain animated blonde. “ _Damn_ , Sarge! Lookin’ fine!” Donut praises. He, not very subtly, eyes Sarge’s physique greedily. Sarge stiffens in discomfort at his soldier’s stare.

You’re not entirely sure you want to know what Donut is complimenting, but you don’t get a say in the matter. Sarge turns around to face you. You think he looks smug. You ‘think’ because you never actually look at his face. Your eyes are glued to the man’s bare torso and _holy hell._

How does a man of this age look so...look so _built_? Why could you easily tell where his abs began and ended? You try not to stare, you really do, but your eyes couldn’t care less about what you wanted. Just when it’s beginning to become an awkward stretch of silence you force your eyes away from his chest.

Oh yeah, he’s definitely smug.

“Like what you see?” Not only is he looking at you with a wide smirk, but the others are staring at you now. Heat flares up on your face and down your neck. You’ve frozen in shock that everyone witnessed your shameful gawking, but mostly flustered. Pushing down your embarrassment you scoff, “You flatter yourself too much.” Spinning around, you march to the center of the mats. Once there, you turn to face him as he approaches. He looks way too self-satisfied for your taste. Good thing you have the opportunity to wipe the grin off his face.

You both take the defensive stance when he steps in front of you. “Do your worst,” he says. “Oh, I will,” you assure him.

Sarge takes the first swing, a pleasant surprise considering you had to chase down Simmons and Grif. You dodge it easily, bringing up your own arm to strike. He blocks your blows with his forearm, pacing closer to you. You move back to give yourself room and better space to defend and attack. When he continues to advance towards you, you skirt around him, landing a hit on his bare back.

Oh. Oh, his backside. Seeing the muscles that attached to his shoulders move as he shifted to confront you and throw another punch was hypnotizing. You hate to admit it, but damn he’s got a good body on all angles. Your lapse in awareness allows Sarge to land a hit on your shoulder. Snapped back into reality, you block his next throw.

Not wanting to be made a fool of for starting at his shirtless back, you advance. Your throws are aggressive and relentless. When Sarge attempts a cross he leaves an opening for you to take. He pants, trying to prevent your hits. You smirk as you push him back.

You don’t focus on the audience watching the two of you dance back and forth like this. Instead, you focus all of your energy on knocking that grin off Sarge’s face. Everytime he lands a blow that stupid cocky smirk is back and it drives you mad.

“I thought you said you were going to _let_ me kick your ass,” you pant, leaning away from a fist.

“I said you get to kick it, never said we were going to just take it!” he chuckles, bringing up his arms to block another swing. Moving to the right you try to get behind him. He’s quick to stay facing you.

“Besides, I like a good fight!” he adds, puffing.

You bring up your foot and slam it into his side. He backs up a few paces, grimacing. “Nice one,” he grunts. You grin at him. While you both stand there a moment, plotting your next move, you allow yourself a quick glance down. Sweat is trickling down his neck and chest. His simple army jeans hang neatly on his hips. Your eyes catch for a millisecond on the trail of silver hair going below his belly button and disappearing into his fatigue pants.

_What are you doing? Concentrate!_

You pull your eyes away from the admittedly nice view and lunge forward at Sarge. He rolls to the side, hurling a fist towards your back. Just before his hand makes contact with your shoulder blade, you grab his wrist and twist.

He falls to one knee as you turn, his arm still in your grip. Once you’re behind him, you pin his arm to his back.

“Ready to tap?”

“I never tap!” He growls. He pulls forward with all his might, tugging you off balance. He swiftly stands up, yanking free of the arm lock. The moment he’s free he tries to tackle you to the ground. When he reaches for you, you raise your foot up and kick. He falls backward onto the mats with a thump. Before he gets the chance to stand back up, you pin him down, forearm resting firmly against his collarbone and throat.

“Tap,” you demand. You’re both panting and red-faced from the spar. His chest heaves while he tries to gulp down cool air. His face is set stubbornly, his jaw clenching. Your eyes lock onto the movement. You expect him to buck you off of him, but he never does. It should be easy considering he has more weight on you, but he doesn’t move. You’re confused at first until you suddenly realize the position you’re in and the look in his eyes. It’s after this realization that you feel a stiff length pressing against your side. Instantly, you freeze and stare at Sarge for a long moment. He stares back. He’s obviously aware that you know yet he doesn’t show any shame. Rather, his grin is back.

Before he has a chance to say something embarrassing or stupid you quickly push away from him. “ _Christ_ , Sarge,” you growl, face feeling hotter than it was during your spar. Casting a disapproving look his way, you start to walk back to the benches where everyone else sat. Everyone but Donut looks uncomfortable with the situation as well.

“Whoa, hey, I never said ‘tap’!” Sarge shouts after you. Quickly sitting up, he keeps himself covered up from his teammates. It’s a pointless attempt; they’re already aware of what’s happened judging by looks on their faces.

Stopping halfway to the benches you turn to look at Sarge, “I’m not sparring with you like that.”

“What?--It’s not what you think--I just--I have a pocket knife!”

You hear someone snort into their hand somewhere behind you. Crossing your arms, you stare at Sarge unimpressed. “Right.”

“You can’t just quit! No one’s tapped out yet!” He argues.

Shrugging you move the last few feet to the benches and grab a water bottle. “Then I tap.”

He stumbles up, trying to figure out the best way to stand and go to you without exposing his obvious boner to the other people in the room. “What?! That’s not--The whole point of this damn thing was so you could get revenge missy! You can’t just let me win!” You take a long gulp of water as you watch him awkwardly walk closer. It was an amusing sight, to say the least.

Your eyes continue to flick down to eye his bulge. Not because you wanted to stare, but because the more devious side of your brain was formulating a plan. It wasn’t the best plan, but it did end in your favor. It’d also make you feel better after having his manhood pressed against you.

Smiling slyly, you place your water bottle down on the cooler beside the bench. The moment Sarge catches sight of the smile he falters. Nodding your head at him, as if you are agreeing with some deep philosophical statement, you stride forward. As you approach the silver-haired man you put on your best sultry expression. He squints at you suspiciously. You’re sure the rest of the reds are curious as well, but you don’t check to see.

Placing a hand on Sarge’s neck, you cup it. The nature of the touch would probably be described as intimate, but your intentions are anything but. Sarge is torn between ecstatic and uncertain. He appreciates your heated look and sudden sensual caress, but at the same time, he senses danger.

“You know, you’re right.” You say, agreeing with his previous argument.

Before Sarge realizes what’s happening you move. A knee to his stomach causes him to bend over. As he does so you take the hand on his neck and your free one to help flip him over completely onto his back. Once he lands with a loud grunt, you deliver one swift kick to his still noticeable boner. Granted it was light enough to not seriously injure him, but he still cried out in agony.

Hands now covering his groin, he rolls to his side. Kneeling down next to him you say, “I did do this for revenge. And now I’m sated.” With that, you stand up, a confident smirk on your face. Grabbing the water bottle you left, you make your way towards the door. It’s silent in the room for a few seconds until Donut begins clapping, loudly. “That was amazing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lopez: “Esto debería ser bueno.”-->"This should be good."


	7. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Lopez are up here so you don't have to scroll to the end of the chapter to find them!
> 
> “Una Vez. Pero luego me di cuenta de que eras bilingüe.”  
> ->"Once. But then I realized that you were bilingual."

“So, dinner tonight?”

You stop abruptly in the hallway at the sudden question. Turning, you see the owner of the voice is none other than your stalker, Sarge. You stare at him in a surprised manner. It’s only been a few hours since the sparring room, and you’re sure he’s still feeling the pain from your crotch kick. Why would he suggest dinner after that? _Maybe he’s a masochist._ That'd be interesting.

You allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts before answering. “It’s not like I have a choice anyhow. Sure.”

The old man smiles victoriously, “Great, I’ll pick you up when the mess hall opens.”

Sarge begins to turn away, planning to head down the hall, but you grab his wrist before he can rush off. It would be in your best interest if you made sure he wasn’t going to go blabbering about your date after this.

“Can you keep your trap shut about this?” you question, keeping your stare stern and your grip firm.

“Are you kidding, my middle name is ‘keeping my trap shut’!” He smirks. He probably intended to sound reassuring, but it only served to solidify your worry. This was going to be a rough evening.

You spent the rest of your afternoon helping in the armory; purely for the sake of Lopez’s sanity. He could only take so much of Donut. In return for your generosity, he taught you his favorite methods of dealing with the halfwits he calls teammates. Method 1, insult them to their face in Spanish; Method 2, drown yourself in alcohol (diesel for Lopez) after every conversation and hope you forget it; and Method 3, plot their demise. Pretty solid advice in your opinion.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have access to alcohol of any kind on Chorus, that you knew of anyway, and you couldn’t very well ingest diesel. So you had to settle on the first and last method. Lopez was even kind enough to teach you his favored phrases that he used constantly. While listening to them you couldn’t help but inquire, “Have you ever directed these at me?” He remains silent. “Una Vez. Pero luego me di cuenta de que eras bilingüe.”

You laugh good-naturedly, “You still do it don’t you?”

“...Sí.”

You hardly took offense. You’ve learned that this is how Lopez is; a snarky bot with lack of patience for idiocy, and even you had your dumb moments.

Now back in your room, you smile as you remember your conversation with him. You’d have to try out his tips tonight at dinner. Sarge was supposed to show up at your dorm at 6 PM, the mess hall’s schedule time for supper. Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s ten til six. You sit on your bed, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror across the room. You were in your fatigues, nothing fancy, and you didn’t bother much with your hair either. It wasn’t as if you were going to a pristine restaurant, it was just the mess hall. With Sarge.

You sigh through your nose. This was going to be rough.

The ten minutes pass too rapidly for your taste because the knock on your door causes you to suddenly become nervous. You weren’t ready to go into a cafeteria full of your recruits, fellow officers, and commanding officer on a date with Sarge. Surely, this would end miserably for you. You’ll have to make sure to get shot next time you’re on a mission.

Standing up from your spot on the bed you shuffle to the door. Before you open it, you steel your resolve, squaring your shoulders. _Just think, soon you’ll be back in here again and the whole evening will be over. Just focus on how happy you’ll be afterward._ You tell yourself as you finally open the door.

Sarge is also in his fatigues, causing a little self-conscious part of yourself to relax. The last thing you wanted was him showing up in well-dressed attire while you, and everyone else in the facility, would be in their casual clothing eating. It’d attract unwanted attention to the pair of you.

He does, however, look well shaven. His half shadow stubble is gone and his hair looks neater. His smile is confident, making his eyes gleam with hidden enthusiasm. You must’ve been staring awkwardly, because he clears his throat, offering you his arm.

Uh.

Do you take it? Seems a bit old fashioned and even too formal for the time and place. You’re in an army base for christ’s sake! You’re not too keen on the idea, especially when people would be traveling the hall during this time and spot the two of you. Despite being opposed to the idea, at that moment, you panic and do the first thing you can think of without thinking. You accept his arm. As you walk down the hall your mind is in a state of hysteria.

_What the hell? Why did I take it? Am I an idiot? Let go, before it’s too late! Why am I not letting go?_

You face remains neutral despite the inner turmoil you’re experiencing, only because you’re in a state of shock as you both walk down the hall. Sarge is speaking, you can tell, but you’re too focused on your arm intertwined with his to understand him.

 _The risk of being seen will quadruple every second you stay like this! Let. Go._ Your rational mind demands of you. Still, you don’t let go. What the hell is wrong with you? Maybe you’re sick. There’s no rational reason for you to be accepting his arm like this.

Thankfully, no one was down the left halls of Armonia, but when the mess hall doors come into view you finally take your arm away. People will be walking in and out of those doors and the hall in a constant flow. Anyone can come through those doors and see you with Sarge and that doesn’t settle well with you.

Sarge is still oblivious to your internal conflict and instead opens the door for you to walk in. The word ‘gentlemen’ flitters through your head briefly before other thoughts scream louder. _Is it too late to turn back now?_ You bet you could pretend to get sick and escape. He’s gullible enough to believe you. The idea is very tempting, but before you can execute your plan, you lock eyes with Washington sitting on the opposite side of the room.

Crap, you’ve been spotted, now it’s definitely too late.

You expect him to stare, considering he knows that Sarge is supposed to be ‘dating’ you. Instead, he returns his gaze to his food, sparing you from embarrassment. You wish his friend shared the same idea. Your eyes cast over to the person by his side; Tucker. That bastard. He’s cocky enough to give you and Sarge an ‘OK’ hand gesture, but with the dirty look on his face, you doubt it’s accompanied by appropriate thoughts.

You choose to ignore his leer and walk with Sarge to the serving window while more people enter the hall, forming a line behind you. Not truly focused on what’s being served, you grab a plate with Chorus’ vegetable version of taquitos and a side of rice. It’s disgusting, but you can’t hope for real chicken inside the tortilla. Most meat on Chorus is just replaced with soy.

Sitting down at your usual table you half assume Sarge will take the spot next to you, given the date would give him an excuse to get close to you, but he doesn’t. He sits in the seat directly across from you like always. You can’t help to be thrown for a loop, curious of this behavior. Like an idiot you address it.

“Didn’t expect you to sit there.”

Sarge lifts his head from looking at his soup to look at you questioningly. “What?”

 _Say “nevermind”--don’t continue; he’s fine where he’s at!_ Your mind screams.

“I mean...I figured you’d sit next to me, given you love getting in my personal space,” you elaborate.

Sarge breaks into a sly smile. _Fuck, yep, really should’ve kept quiet._ “You try’na hint to me that you want me next to ya?”

You frown at him and his stupid smile. “No.”

He chuckles, picking up his spoon, “Don’t worry Princess, I’m not gunna.” He begins to eat, still smiling. You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Since when does Sarge not want to be in your personal bubble?

“I feel like there’s something I’m missing,” you say, regarding him incredulously.

He glances up at you while he takes a spoonful of the vegetable soup. Swallowing, he leans forward, as if he was preparing to whisper a secret to you. “Wanna know why I always sit here?”

_What a dumb question._

“Why?” you humor him.

“Because I get to look directly into your pretty eyes when we talk.”

You blink in surprise.

“Sitting beside your lover is all well and good, but you don’t get this view,” he purrs. His rough voice drops an octave.

You suddenly feel warm, flattered at his comment about your appearance, but at the same time, you’re confused as hell. You expected his reasoning to be something stupid like, ‘Because I can see my wingmen easier like this’, or ‘So I can keep an eye on the mess hall doors to watch for danger--gotta keep you safe!’. Not _that._ You’re so startled by his proclamation you don’t realize he referred to you as his ‘lover’.

He looks very self-satisfied with your reaction. Hurriedly you wipe the expression off your face, casting him an unimpressed look instead.

“You're very bad at flirting.”

“What?! That was good!”

“Exactly, that was too good for _you._ ” You take a bite of your food while he sits up straight again. “What’re you tryna say?” he asks, raising a brow. He waits patiently for you to finish chewing before you can speak.

“Considering you followed Tucker’s horrible advice to woo me, I’m going to assume you asked Donut this time.”

“That's ridiculous! Donut doesn't know anything ‘bout women!”

_That’s true._

“That was still rather unusual for you,” you continue, placing the tortilla back down on the plate, finding it messy as the fake meat falls out. He smirks devilishly, which isn't something you’re used to seeing. “You just haven’t heard or seen my suave side.”

You chuckle, “You have a suave side?” Your grin grows at his insulted expression.

“For your information Princess--”

“(Y/n),” you correct.

“--(Y/n), I can be incredibly charming!”

“Oh really?” you tease, taking a bite out of a taquito. Getting to tease him like you normally do helps ease your anxiousness. While you were still observing the room for gossiping teens or strange looks from superiors, you feel more comfortable with the familiar banter.

“Yes! Why else would you agree to be with me tonight?!”

“Uh, it's apart of our deal.”

He huffs at your answer, waving it off with a scarred hand, “Admit it, sweetheart! You enjoy being with me!”

“Mm, no.”

He rests his elbow on the table and points a finger at you, “So you _do_ enjoy being with me, you just don’t want to admit it!”

You furrow your brows, “What no--I meant ‘No, I don’t enjoy this.’!”

“Aw, don’t be so shy sweetheart,” he coos at you.

“You’re impossible,” you growl, feeling your cheeks warm at his embarrassing cooing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sarge decides, picking up his forgotten spoon and digging into his soup once more.

You roll your eyes in exasperation. Arguing with Sarge is like talking to a brick wall; nothing gets done, and nothing will change. You return to your food as well, but as you chew you notice Sarge grimace when he takes another spoonful of his soup. “Where’d they get this garbage, it tastes awful!” He complains loudly, putting down the spoon. He reaches for his drink to wash the tang of the broth away.

Not paying much attention to his complaints you continue to eat your food in silence until you notice his hand reach across to your tray and grab your fork. Jerking your head up in surprise, you watch helplessly as Sarge scoops some rice from your bowl and takes a bite. It takes you a minute before you finally find your words.

“What the hell, eat your own food!” You exclaim, swatting his hand away when he tries to go in for another bite.

“What,” he says as you block him off from the rice once more, “yours is better!”

“I know, so back off,” you add, frustratingly.

Sarge doesn’t cease, instead he makes it his mission to get another forkful of rice. Thirty seconds in of defending your food, you give up, deciding it’s not worth it. You watch exasperatedly as Sarge shoves the food into his mouth, flashing you a winning smirk. Rolling your eyes at his antics, you return to your last taquito. The Colonel eventually takes the bowl from your tray to eat it up close rather than lean over the table which you’re thankful for. You didn’t want him awkwardly leaning over you tray trying to eat your food.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, you glance up from your plate and scan the room once more. No one appeared to think it strange that Sarge and you were eating together (which isn’t surprising considering you’ve been eating in this routine for a couple of days), causing you to relax again. Until your eyes fall onto Tucker. He isn’t looking at the two of you, granted, but you couldn't help but glare. Why would Sarge ever consult him for advice? He’s literally the worst person to ask.

Glancing to the old soldier in front of you, you decide to just ask and get to the bottom of it. “So, what part of asking Tucker for lady advice was a good idea?” You return your focus on Tucker again as he pesters Wash and Carolina. The silver-haired man follows your gaze.

“Uhh,” he begins. “He said he’s had a lot of women.”

“And that makes him a qualified love coach?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He stares back at you, his own brows furrowed in worry.

“I feel like there’s not a safe way out of this conversation.”

“You’re probably right,” you agree.

He sighs, scratching his jaw. “He acted like he knew what he was talkin’ ‘bout. If he’s managed to get multiple women to bed with his techniques, why wouldn’t work for me?!”

You give him a flat look. “I’m not just some woman whom you can bed easily Sarge.”

He holds up his hands quickly, “I never said that!”

“It was implied. Besides, do you really think Tucker’s _ever_ taken a woman to bed.”

You both look over at him. He’s flicking peas at Wash, accidentally hitting Carolina in the crossfire. She whips her head to him like an angry cat. Tucker is definitely not a smooth talker seeing as how his words don’t deter Carolina from standing up and advancing towards him.

Sarge grunts as you both watch the spectacle unfold. “Reckon not.” He turns back to you, “Shoulda known better than to trust a dirty blue.” His tone is aggressive as he stares off into space, probably imagining himself beating a blue to death.

Finishing your water, you stand up, followed by Sarge. You both place your dishes and trash away at the kitchen window. As you near the exit’s door, your _date_ rushes ahead of you and opens the door happily. Feeling the need to be polite you give a small thank you. Once he arrives back at your side, he offers you his arm.

You stare at it for a moment, reluctant to take it, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of holding onto him that closely. He notices your hesitation.

“Relax sweetheart, it’s not going to bite you!” he jests. You give him a half smile but decline his arm regardless. You start forward and he falls into step next to you.

Neither of you says anything as you make your way back to your dorm, making the air rather thick. Or perhaps it was just you. Glancing up quickly at Sarge, you see that his normally hard features have softened, making him appear a few years younger. He looks completely relaxed beside you. Your glance must’ve turned into a stare because he meets your eye.

Face warm, you quickly whip your head forward ignoring the knowing smirk from your companion that you can clearly see in your peripheral. “Something on my face?” he asks.

“Yeah, rice,” you lie.

The Colonel must’ve believed your words because you notice him brushing his hand against chin briefly to feel for the grain. Finding nothing he drops his hand, turning to you. “Did I get it?”

Even though you know there’s nothing there, you look regardless. “Yep,” you confirm. That satisfies him.

At last, you spot your door coming into view and you quicken your step. Sarge surprisingly keeps up. Stopping in front of your door, you begin to type in the lock’s code. When you hear the telltale click of the mechanism opening you prepare to turn to your companion. That was a huge mistake.

He places a hand on the left side of the door frame, hovering over you like he did earlier that morning after breakfast in the hall. You frown, already sensing what he was about to ask.

“Reckon this is where we part,” he begins, attempting to sound casual.

“Yep. Goodnight.” You say, not bothering to lead the conversation on. You start to turn, hand on the door’s handle, but Sarge’s voice stops you.

“Aren’t you going to give your beau a kiss goodnight?” He looks incredibly hopeful. A shame you were going to have to crush his dreams. “No.” With that said you open your door and quickly rush in. Sarge is faster, surprising you for his age, and puts his foot in the door to prevent it from shutting all the way. “Now that’s just rude sweetheart,” he says, shoving the door wider to stick his head through. “Leaving without so much as a peck on the cheek!”

“You’ve already been aware that I’m rude.” you state, placing a hand on your hip, “And I’m not kissing you. Anywhere.”

“C’mon, just one?” he begs.

“No.”

“What if I said pretty please?”

“Still no.”

“With a cherry on top?”

“No! Sarge get out of my doorway!” you huff, pressing the close button again, attempting to squeeze him back into the hallway. The door simply moves back to the open position when it presses against Sarge, detecting an obstruction in its path. _Stupid safety features._ “At least let me kiss your hand!” he suggests, eyes still trained on you.

“What?”

“You know like they did in old classic films, where the guy’s kissing his lady’s hand! Thought you women liked that romantic crap,” he elaborates.

You roll your eyes, “If you think it’s crap then why suggest it?”

“Because I want to do whatever makes you happy!”

You stare at him a long time in stunned silence. You could hardly believe how dense he is sometimes. “You wanna know what’d make me really happy?”

“What?” he asks, leaning forward eagerly. Maybe a bit too eagerly.

“If you’d get out of my doorway!” you growl.

He sighs, straightening up again. “You sure are a hard one to get,” he concludes. You jut your hip out as you shift your weight from one leg to another. “You’re never going to ‘get’ me Sarge,” you remind him, crossing your arms.

“We’ll see about that Princess,” he smiles boldly. You open your mouth to correct him  _for the hundredth time_ , but you never form the words because He grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips. You almost consider jerking it from his grasp but for some odd reason, you don’t. You watch him intently as he gently applies a kiss to your knuckles before letting go. He gives you one more charming smile as he slips out of your door, telling you to sleep well.

You stare at where he just was, feeling quite odd. The skin where he placed his kiss still tingles as you close the metal sliding door. You push the confusing emotions bubbling in your chest to the back of your mind and instead head to your bathroom to change into your sleepwear. You'll be able to make sense of it all in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Lopez's dialogue is translated at the top in case you didn't see!)


	8. Donut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the very late update, school has been hectic.

You help Simmons heave a crate of alien technology up from the floor to another stack in the corner. You grunt as you set it down. You’ve been in the armory since five in the morning. Totally not because you were trying to avoid Sarge, no, no, no, you just wanted to help contribute to the war effort...two hours earlier than everyone else.

God, you were so tired.

At 3 AM your plan sounded brilliant, genius even, but now you were beginning to regret it. Since you were hiding-- _helping_ your cause for Chorus, you opted to skip breakfast. That turned out to be a big mistake. Your stomach could attest to that. Nothing can be done to soothe your stomach and Lunch isn’t served until noon; you should have never skipped breakfast.

_I could’ve grabbed some oatmeal and just ate it in my room and returned the dishes later. But nooo, I had to have a ‘stroke of genius’ and work in the armory!_

Stretching your arms to loosen the muscles, you follow Simmons to the back of the room to fetch another crate.

“A training rifle, Sir.” you hear a fed request at the counter.

“Righto! Grif, we need a training rifle!” Donut calls back to the orange captain. The order falls on deaf ears as the man in question is asleep on top of the ammo crates. It has to be incredibly uncomfortable, but Grif can make a bed out of anything.

Donut turns to stare at him, “Grif.”

Still nothing.

“ _Grif!_ ” He shouts. The Captain snorts awake, looking around confused until his eyes land on the pink soldier. He sighs, dropping his head back down to the crate and flopping an arm over his eyes. “Simmons, Donut’s asking for you,” he yawns.

“He’s saying _your_ name,” Simmons says, casting an unamused look at the man.

“Yeah, but I’m on break.”

“You’re always on break!” He grumbles.

For a solid three seconds no one moves, obviously waiting for Grif to get up and do his job, but instead, a snore escapes his mouth. Simmons mutters to himself angrily, walking over to his sleeping friend. He climbs up onto the crates until he’s on the same level as him. He steps over his body, causing Grif to peep open his eye at the movement. “The fuck are you doing?” He asks, suspicious.

“This.”

Simmons shoves Grif’s body off the crate, grunting with effort. “Wait--Fuck!” With a loud sound, he topples to the floor. You, Donut, and everyone else in line wince at the sound. Grif growls in pain, “You jackass!” He stumbles up from the floor and launches himself at his teammate. They both crash to the floor, wrestling against each other. Wow, you’ve never seen Grif so active this early in the morning; and it's only 10 AM!

Donut huffs in exasperation as the two cause a spectacle. You hear Simmons spit underwhelming insults towards his friend as they roll around on the floor like the children they are.

You watch the two of them for a few more seconds before turning to the pink armored man. “I’ll get the gun.” Walking around them both, you head to two crates in the back of the shop. Once you acquire the training weapon you skirt around the boys. You hand the rifle over to Donut. He sighs, taking it from you and shoving it into the hands of the waiting soldier. Turning to you he leans against the counter, ignoring the next person in line. “They act just like an old married couple!” You raise an amused eyebrow at the statement; however, at hearing Donut’s words the tall, redhead, whips his head around.

“Stop saying that!”

“Yeah, it’s fucking weird,” Grif growls, delivering a smack to the back of Simmons’ head while he’s distracted.

Donut huffs indignantly, “I said you were _acting_ like a married couple, not that you _are!_ ”

 _"_ _S_ _till!"_  Simmons replies, preparing to punch Grif, while the Hawaiian grabs his throat. Before either gets the chance to do some serious damage, both their radios burst to life.

“This is Agent Carolina to Doctor Grey and the Reds and Blues, I need you in the left wing hangar immediately, I have another mission for you.” She signs off with a click and static. Grif groans overdramatically, pulling his hands away from Simmons’ neck. Leaning his head back to the ceiling, he complains, “It’s always something!” Simmons huffs as well, but at his friend’s attitude rather than Carolina’s request. He brushes his armor off as though it were wrinkled clothing.

“Better you than me,” you reply, returning to the alien weapon crates to fetch Simmons’ helmet. Grif picks up his own which was discarded on his ‘bed.’ You hold out Simmon’s helmet to him while he approaches you.

“Think you can handle the armory with Donut and Lopez without us?” He asks you.

You tilt your head, “You and Grif weren’t exactly handling it any better.” You smirk when he grumbles, taking his helmet from your hands and shoving it onto his head.

“Got the teleportation cube, let’s go, dickhead,” Grif says, holding the item in hand. The two leave the room with a warping sound, leaving you with the flamboyant soldier at the counter, and a disgruntled mechanic in the back.

“I’m just saying, red accents would really pop on that armor!” Donut says from behind you. “Uh, but that defeats the purpose of my camouflage, Sir,” a soldier tells him. “You have to make sacrifices to be beautiful, Carter! Beauty is pain!” You can’t help but rub your eyes and think about those two hours of sleep you lost.

 

Once the last recruit leaves the counter for lunch, you sag in relief. Now you can leave the station and snag some well-deserved food. You start towards the door, mouth watering at the thought of food, but your fantasy is cut short at the sound of Donut’s voice.

“Sooo, how was your date last night?”

Immediately, you stop dead in your tracks. _God. Damnit._ Turning slowly, you stare at the man. He stares back at you expectantly.

“How did you find out about that?” You question him.

He laughs--no he giggles, like a freaking school girl talking to her best friend about her crush. “Oh, hon! I’m very keen when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Sarge talked about it at breakfast didn’t he?”

“Well, technically, yes, but I knew it the whole time regardless.”

Sighing, you rub your eyes, “What’d he say?” The last thing you wanted to do was stand around in the armory with Donut having girl talk, especially when you could be eating right now, but you’d rather get this over with.

“Well, he didn’t really reveal a lot of details, which is odd, he usually loves to gush about you,” Donut ponders.

Your eye twitches and your face grows warm. _He_ _gushes about me?_

“Although, he _did_ say you kissed!” He not so subtly pries. It makes your skin crawl in dread. Keeping your face neutral, you scoff, “We didn’t kiss.”

His face drops, “What?”

“He kissed me on the hand; that was it,” you state matter of factly, hoping your no-nonsense tone would cause him to drop the subject. He didn’t.

“Aw! That’s so sweet!” he coos, bunching his hands close to his face.

“No, it’s not.”

He smirks at you, “Don’t be so embarrassed sweetheart!”

You frown, “I’m not--Look, you’re reading into this way too much.” You turn away, waving off his claim, heading to the armory’s exit.

“I’m not reading into anything! It’s as obvious as the nose on your face!” He exclaims, jumping in front of you to block your departure. You scowl at him. “You totally like him!” He says, grasping your shoulders firmly, giving you a knowing smile.

Your scowl deepens, “Donut, this isn’t some high school drama movie where the girl fakes being in a relationship with a guy and they fall in love. It’s real life, and it’s a _war_.” You gesture around the room at the weapons and armor.

He giggles, “Hey, all’s fair in love and war!”

“That doesn’t even apply in this scenario. I'm not doing anything to 'win' Sarge at any cost if anything it's the other way around.”

“Same difference,” He dismisses offhandedly.

Rolling your eyes, you try to move past him and towards the dining hall again, but he stops you.

You growl in the back in your throat and he holds up his hands. “Easy feisty! Just one more thing!”

“What?” you snap.

“I just want you to know,” he begins, his childish tone replaced with a serious one, “that if you ever need relationship advice I’m here for you.”

You blink at him, quizzically, finding his statement presumptuous. Your stomach growls in impatience, obviously unhappy that you’ve not yet delivered its nutrients. If you don’t leave soon you’re liable to eat the guns’ ammunition out of desperation. Sighing, you decide you just need to play along with the conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Donut...I can always count on you,” your tone isn’t even convincing; too tired and hungry to give the lie more enthusiasm. The flamboyant man doesn't seem to care about your cynical tone and gives you a friendly hug before linking arms with you.

“Let’s go, hun! Lunch is waiting and I’m craving some hot, creamy noodles!”

You jerk your head back slightly, surprised and confused at his wording. Noticing your startled grimace, he tilts his head. “What?” He asks innocently. “It’s Pasta Day!”

“You literally could have worded that in any way, but you chose that.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m spurting out innuendos every minute like Lopez does! Seriously that bot is  _nasty._ I’ll admit though, I wouldn’t mind getting freaky with his fettuccine.” Donut twists over his shoulder to look into the garage as if to make sure Lopez didn’t hear; however, the gleam in his eye told differently.

“You just further solidified my point.”

“And he further solidifies _my--”_

“Okay, let’s go!” You interrupt quickly, feeling more than uncomfortable.

“Right, we should hurry! I bet the line is just jam-packed!” He exclaims. Immediately your mind goes to the gutter.

 _He’s already rubbing off on m--wait, fuck, no!_ You scold yourself for the mental slip before you feel Donut tug you along by your arm. It’s quite a feat to keep up with him. _Holy hell, he is a speed walker!_ He practically pulls you along like a rag doll through the halls, only stopping when you reach the mess hall. He finally lets go of your elbow, much to your great relief, as you walk through the doors. Placing your hands on your hips, you catch your breath; you’re pretty sure you got a stitch in your side from moving that fast.

“Oo! They have hoagies!” You hear him squeal. He’s quick to pick up your elbow again and drag you through the line with him. When you spot the spaghetti you frown in distaste; Donut has forever ruined food for you. Instead, you grab a small sandwich and a side of potatoes.

Donut stays close by your side, jabbering away at forty miles a minute. Desperately wishing to get away, you scan the room for Sarge. Under normal circumstances, especially after last night, you would never search for his company...but you’ll make an exception this one time. You're met with disappointment when you don't see him at your usual table. Dread settles in your stomach as you keep searching for his face through the crowd but to no avail. _The one time I need him and he's gone! Lovely!_

It’s then that you remember that Sarge is with Carolina on a mission. Your shoulders sag in defeat. _Okay, maybe I can still sneak off, maybe Donut forgot that Sarge isn’t here._

You maintain your composure as you grab a water and smile through whatever one-sided conversation he’s having with you. Before he’s even finished you cut him off, “Well, it’s been nice hanging out with you, but I’m gonna head to my table now--”

“Why don’t you sit with us for today!?” he counters. “After all Sarge is gone for the day! Wouldn’t want you to sit by yourself!” Not given a chance to argue, he guides you over to his own table where Doc, Simmons, and Grif sit. As you sit down beside Donut, you raise an eyebrow at the two captains.

“I thought you had a super important mission to help ‘Lina with,” you say. A tiny bit of hope springs in your chest that maybe Sarge didn’t go along either.

“Didn’t feel like tagging along, sounded like there’d be a lot of heavy lifting and walking,” Grif answers you, taking a bite out of his pasta.

“Sarge, Caboose, and Tucker went instead,” Simmons explains, “something about investigating a temple.”

Nevermind.

You cover up your disappointment and snort good-naturedly, “Sarge went with two of the blues? I'm surprised.”

“I'm more surprised he went on an investigation, I didn't take him for the type to examine alien ruins,” Doc adds, eating his salad. “Perhaps he’s finally taking my advice and getting a real hobby!”

“He’s not, they're just there to lift heavy crates for Dr. Grey,” Grif says after swallowing his food. “Do you really think Sarge of all people would get a hobby?”

You smirk, mostly because Sarge is only on a mission to lift heavy crates, _again._

“Yeah shooting his shotgun is about as interesting as it gets. That and killing ‘the dirty blues’.

“Speaking of Sarge!” Donut grins broadly, a glint in his eye.

_Oh god._

He leans forward, “A little birdy told me that they,” he gestures to you, “Had a date last night!” You rub your temple, feeling a headache beginning to grow. Donut wasn’t content with hearing about the story from the source, he had to tell everyone about it as well.

“Oh my god, really? That’s so great!” Doc exclaims leaning forward as well. “How did it go, you have to tell us everything--”

“Yeah, as interested as I am in her personal life, I’m gonna pass. It’s way past my Noon Nap,” Grif cuts in, sarcasm so evident that not even Donut could misinterpret. He begins to stand from his seat, already finished with his food. He must’ve inhaled it because no human on earth could chew and swallow all of that in the amount time he had.

“I’ve already heard this story a dozen times from Sarge and I swear it changes every time, I’ll pass as well,” Simmons adds. You blink in surprise at this information. You can’t help but feel embarrassed that Sarge is blabbering about your afternoon to Simmons on multiple occasions.

“Awww!” Doc and Donut coo.

“You must’ve really charmed the old man to make him talk that much!” Doc grins. _What are the chances that lightning would strike Doc and Donut at this_ exact _moment?_ You stare at Simmons as he gets up, silently pleading him to save you, but he merely gives you an apologetic look before making his escape.

“So, what’s the story, tell me everything that happened!” the pacifist urges.

“We just ate. That was it,” you state, wishing the conversation was already over. Donut doesn’t share your sentiment. He’s practically buzzing beside you.

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now! What did you talk about?”

“His poor life decisions.”

“You’re the worst story teller ever!” Donut groans, leaning around you to look at Doc. “I’ll cut right to the chase, they totally kissed!”

Doc gasps delightedly.

“We didn’t kiss,” you correct quickly.

“Yes you did, you said so!”

“I said, “ _on the hand._ ’” you growl. You hear a gasp to your left and you turn to look at the doctor’s face. He’s smiling and has a hand on his chest. “Aw, that’s even sweeter!”

You sigh.

“I know right?! (Y/n) you caught a good man!” Donut praises. You raise a brow, unimpressed with them both.

“I haven’t seen or heard Sarge being this happy since...well since blood gulch when he got to use Grif for target practice! But my point is it sounds like you make him really happy,” Doc tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you an emotion-filled look. You stare back incredulously.

“All I said was, 'We talked and he kissed my hand.' Where did 'me making him happy' come from?” Doc grins patting your shoulder while Donut sighs, mumbling something along the lines of “How stupidly oblivious.”

“(Y/n) we’ve seen how he looks at you while you two eat and hang around each other.”

“Yeah it’s called creepy staring, he mastered the art of it. He has for months, this isn’t anything new, we’ve all known he’s been pestering me about dating him for quite some time now,” you reason, removing his hand.

“Psh!” Donut scoffs. “The point still stands that he adores you!”

You feel your stomach twist in unease at his words. Or maybe that’s just because your stomach still isn’t full.

“He’s just delusional,” you counter, refusing to believe Donut’s words.

He ‘tsks’ at you, shaking his head, “You’re either really blind or really stubborn.”

“Plot twist, I just don’t care.” Your temple begins to twitch the more Donut keeps pushing. Doc picks up on your rising ire and quickly steps in.

“Speaking of plot twists, I just finished my book on _Medicine and Prejudice_ and let me just say that Dr. Harrows threw me for a loop on the last chapter! I mean, who would’ve thought that robotic eyes can cause motor functionality to decrease by 2.7% every _eighteen years_?”

You take that as your cue to finish up your sandwich while Doc distracts the overbearing man. Your stomach is incredibly grateful to him.

The male beside you, however, isn’t. He blinks boredly at his friend as he continues his book summary. It’s only until the conversation switches into mindless gossip do you see the opportunity to slip away. You didn’t even need to make an excuse. Donut was so intent on Docs latest story, that he never noticed you get up and leave right before his eyes.

As you walk back through Armonia, you decide to go to the firing range instead of the armory. You don’t think you can handle being around Donut for another minute, besides, Sarge isn’t going to be around for the rest of the day, and possibly the week; you no longer need to hide out.


	9. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will probably update every three weeks instead of two due to school work piling up. I apologize, but I try to make sure each chapter is at least 2,000 words and well written, which normally took two weeks. However, with school, it just adds on an extra week. Be patient with me, please, I'm doing my best trying to juggle everything!  
> (Also, side note, the rating changed from Explicit to Mature, mostly because I didn't realize it'd take this long to get to the hanky panky. My bad.)

It’s only been two days since Sarge left and it’s been hell. More specifically, your time with Donut has been hell. If you’re not stuck with him in the armory, you’re stuck with him everywhere else. Donut has taken it upon himself to keep you company while your ‘boyfriend’, as he likes to call the Colonel, is away. He assumes your lonely since he’s off on a mission, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.

You tried to convince Simmons or Grif to cover your shift, to give you a break from the man, but neither one wanted to be around him any more than you did. So for now, you’re trapped in the horrible world of daily gossip and sentences that suspiciously sound like innuendos.

Now, you could handle the gossip, the real problem was the way he worded  _ every little thing _ . It was as if he was doing it on purpose! If you have to endure one more afternoon with this nut job-- _ and that’s not a pun _ \--you’re going to kill someone.

Exhaling sharply through your nose, you reload your rifle as your unwanted friend continues to talk beside you.

“You know, I bet if he went to Marley’s Day Spa he could get rid of those blackheads,” he rambles on. You try to ignore him as you take aim once more at the traffic cone. 

“I know we’re not on Earth right now, but I’m just saying, after the war, one visit couldn’t hurt him.”

You pull the trigger, the sound blissful to your ears after hearing Donut for the past 48 hours. Unfortunately, your shot misses, causing you to grind your teeth; your aim has been off all morning. _Gee, wonder why?_   You glare out of the corner of your eye at Donut.

Despite shooting every four seconds, effectively drowning out any conversation, it does nothing to deter the man's story. You’d rather spend your time shoveling shit than this. Hell, even going on another date with Sarge is better than this; as horrendous as that sounds.

 

Suddenly, Donut’s radio burst to life with a crackle, silencing his next statement.  _ Thank God. _  You intend to ignore the message until you hear your saving grace:

“All Reds and Blues, meet in the war room. Repeat: All Reds and Blues, meet in the war room.”

If you didn’t have any self-control, you might’ve lept into the air and screamed hallelujah over and over again. Instead, you feign disappointment.

“Aw, guess that's you...Welp, I’ll catch you later!” You turn back to the target and start to lift your rifle when Donut giggles.

“Don't be so silly! You're as much a red as I am!” Oh, no. You can feel the impending doom rising like a dark cloud behind you.

“Come on let’s head up there together!”

Oh,  _ fucking hell. _

He promptly grabs your elbow, for the umpteenth time, and drags you out of the shooting range. You barely have any time to put up your weapon up as you skid past the gun rack.

You try your best to keep up with the fast-paced soldier as he brings you with him into the war room. The two commanders of the army are already there along with Washington, Simmons, Grif, and Lopez. They spared you a glance when you both made a dramatic entrance through the doors, all thanks to Donut.

“Ah, good, we’re all here now. Emily messaged us not ten minutes ago. Something urgent about the temple,” Doyle says, welcoming you both in. 

Donut finally lets go of your arm to stand beside Lopez and Grif. You make yourself comfortable by standing with Simmons, far away from your new BFF. 

“Now, let’s call her back and-Oh, nevermind,” Doyle begins, “She’s calling us.” A message is displayed upon his terminal screen, reading, “Dr. Grey requesting a video call.” He fiddles with the control panel and accepts the request which in turn brings up a video feed of the research team.

Your eyes lock onto Sarge’s red armor almost immediately. He finally got it repainted from black, for your food recovery mission, back to its normal bright red. Definitely suits him better.

At the sight of you, the man grins, helmet off and hair messy. “Hey, there beauti--” He never gets a chance to finish his greeting, however, because Emily bursts into a long, rushed dialogue, cutting the man off entirely. The disgruntled look on his face in response is priceless. Smirking, you turn your attention to the doctor, trying to decipher her words. Unfortunately, no one is able to follow her onslaught of speech as her words become jumbled with one another.

The only things you could pick up was that Tucker did something to the temple.

“Emily! Please, slow down!” Doyle at lasts manages, too overwhelmed by her outburst to understand anything.

“Slow down!? General, the alien weapons, the vehicles, all of the artifacts we’ve found over the years, they weren’t broken they were just deactivated! And Tucker’s sword made them work!” Emily exclaims excitedly.

“For all of two seconds,” Sarge adds.

Kimball finds this hard to believe, questioning how it was possible to activate such an old, practically empty temple. Tucker proceeds to explain to everyone the Great Prophecy he was apart of back at Blood Gulch. If that wasn’t hard enough to wrap your head around he then says, “Which turned out to be some elaborate goose chase to get me knocked up and give birth to an alien baby.”

You, Kimball, and Doyle are silent, unsure and stunned at this explanation. At last, Doyle speaks up, almost hesitantly, “You’ve...reproduced?”

“Fuck yeah, Junior is awesome! Check him out in his 5th-grade basketball team!”

You look to Simmons, confused and horrified. “Yeah, Blue Team always has something fucked up going on,” he replies.

Returning your attention back to the screen, you listen to the team relay their findings. At least you try because as you watch the screen your eyes wander to where Sarge is standing and he’s staring at you.  _ Ah, yes. How I missed his oh-so-famous Stalker Stare.  _ You raise an eyebrow at him, silently questioning him. He only grins back, glad to have grabbed your attention. You roll your eyes at his childish behavior and focus back to the conversation at hand. 

You’ve missed some of the important details it seemed because now Kimball was arguing with Doyle about taking Crash Site Alpha. The squabbling continues until Tucker interjects. “What about the map? After that big voice turned off the tower, it showed us that map and some coordinates.”

“Taking Crash Site Alpha is possible, but not without heavy losses. That map from the temple holds coordinates to something that could save lives,” Carolina agrees.

“We don’t have time to investigate. For all we know, Charon’s already working on a new batch of rifle replacements,” Kimball disagrees.

“If those coordinates do lead to something, we can’t afford it falling into Charon’s hands. We need to send a small team on foot,” the freelancer replies. Kimball still refuses to follow through with the plan, leading to more disputing between strategies. You begin to feel antsy as the tension in the room grows thick. Glancing up at Sarge, you can tell he feels the tension as well, but he only appears to be annoyed with the prolonged disagreement rather than unnerved by it. It’s not until Doyle speaks up that the unease dissipates. 

“Is it possible to divide and conquer?”

At last, quiet reins as the commanding officers consider this possibility. Washington nods his head, “Yeah, Carolina can lead an away team on foot out to the coordinates and Kimball can lead the charge against Alpha.”

“Why does Kimball get to lead the charge?” Doyle protest.

“Are  _ you _ volunteering?” Washington questions.

Raising a hand up to your mouth, you hide your smirk.

“Uh, well I...Uh, unfortunately, someone will need to stay behind and guard the Capitol, and I know the city better than anyone!” The General sputters out.

“Nice bail,” Grif comments.

“The feds won’t take orders from me,” Kimball points out. 

“They will if their lives depend on it. It’ll take some work but we can pull this off,” Wash consoles. 

“Then you can count me and my boys in!” Sarge declares, bringing everyone’s attention back to the screen. Grif and Simmons share a mutual look, one of agreed disagreement. “Uh, actually we gotta work at the armory,” Grif lies through his teeth.

“Yeah, sorry guys. Wish we could help,” Simmons agrees, faking guilt. 

Lopez snorts, “ _ Buena fianza. _ ” You chuckle, sparing Lopez an amused look.

“Well if you really want to go, Lopez, (Y/n), and I can take care of the armory!” Donut ‘helpfully’ suggests. Your smile drops.  _ No, no, no, no, no! _

Panicking slightly at the prospect of spending possibly another week with him, you interject. “Uh, actually I’d like to accompany Grif and Simmons...We work well together as a team.” Grif raises an eyebrow, fully aware that was a bald-faced lie.

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)!” Sarge grins, “Looks like you’ll all get to see your fearless Colonel on the battlefield after all! Hey, we can even make it a date to boot, (Y/n)!” You cringe at his enthusiasm as well as the looks you receive from Kimball and Washington. 

“This is a professional mission, Sarge. Personal matters will stay at the base,” Kimball sternly commands, giving you both a warning stare.

Your face burns. “Of course General Kimball,” you respectfully reply. You flash Sarge an angry glare, silently telling him to go fuck himself. 

“Do I make myself clear, Colonel?” Kimball asks, turning her attention to the red armored man who has yet to reply. Giving a half-hearted grumble, he nods his head in agreement. That’s about as much of a “yes” anyone could get out of him. 

“Good. It’s settled then. Everyone meet up with your teams, it’s time to end this war.”

With that said, the video call ends and everyone in the war room disperses. For the first time in three days, you walk in the opposite direction from Donut. He waves goodbye to you, wishing you luck on your mission, as he walks off with Lopez. You’re sure you’re going to hear it from Lopez once you get back for leaving him alone with the crazed nut job, but you really couldn’t care right now. You’re free! At fucking last!

You sidle up beside Simmons as he and Grif walk towards the rec room. “What a fucking dickhead,” Grif grumbles, no doubt talking about Donut. “God, we get pulled into crazy shit all the time, we never get a fucking break!”

“You get breaks all the time, you call them naps,” Simmons replies, relieving an itch on the back of his head.

“Yeah, and they’re fucking great! I need more of them.”

You all walk in silence down the hall until you reach the recreation room. As the two males head to the bar you sit down in one of the worn leather chairs, sagging in relief. 

“How long do we have until it’s "mission time?'” You ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Mm, it'll probably take Sarge about an hour and fifteen minutes, give or take, to get back from the temple,” Simmons says, picking up an already opened bottle of water.

“Are those you’re exact calculations Ben Wyatt?” Grif ribs. Instead of grabbing a drink from the fridge, Grif opts to rummage around in the cabinets for food.

“Who the fuck is Ben Wyatt?” Simmons asks, turning to look back at the man.

“Nevermind dude.”

You mess with a few loose strands of your hair, eyeing the bar. “I’m going to assume there isn’t actually any alcohol back there, huh?”

Your friend shakes his head, “Just water.”

“Damn, could really use it.”

“Before a mission?” Simmons asks, appalled.

Grif laughs, “That’s my kind of girl, guess I judged you wrong!” He chucks a bag of chips to you as a type of olive branch. You don’t complain and dig into the slightly stale crisps.

“Careful, Grif, (Y/n) is Sarge’s girl now. Wouldn’t want to make him upset,” Simmons grins, flashing you a smirk behind his bottle of water.

You scoff, grabbing the nearest object near you, a magazine (who the fuck reads magazines anymore?), and chuck it at him. “I’ve heard enough about Sarge all day,” you complain, tossing another chip in your mouth.

“Oh, yeah, how do you like your new bestie? Bet he’s fun,” Simmons laughs.

You groan to the ceiling, “It’s a nightmare, I swear it’s like he’s the one dating Sarge, he talks about him so damn much.”

“So you’re finally admitting that you and Sarge are dating? Congrats, should we start planning your wedding next?” Grif adds, pouring his bag of food into his mouth.

You give the slob a look, chucking a stale chip at his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing it before it falls, eating it. You grin shaking your head.

“How many dates do you have left now?” Simmons asks, conversationally. Honestly, you’d rather not talk about this at all; you’re burnt out on this topic, but given that it’s Simmons asking and not a certain blonde, flamboyant male, you humor him. Just this once.

“Four.”

Damn, I would’ve thought he’d crack faster than this,” Grif replies, relaxing on the couch, flipping the TV on. You hear the theme music of his favorite show play in the background.

“So did I,” you answer.

“Well hey, he did try to get you on board with a date during a mission...In front of Kimball...” The maroon soldier reminds you. You cover your face with an arm, head leaning back against the chair. “Jesus Christ, ” you grumble, feeling heat travel up your neck and onto your face.  _Sarge is a fucking idiot._

“Okay, cut the girl talk, I’m trying to watch,” Grif orders, turning up the volume on the TV. It would appear that once Grif started a show, all niceties and conversation ended. You could respect that. Settling down in your seat, you watch the film along with Grif. You only had an hour before you’d be thrust back onto the field and alongside Sarge, might as well enjoy your free time while you can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Buena fianza." Nice bail.


	10. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took an extra week to get out, I had to finish my Senior paper draft first before I could finish this. Also, I kinda rushed a lot of the ending because I didn't want to make you wait any longer so excuse any mistakes or OOC behavior!

The hour went by too fast; before you knew it you were back in the armory to receive the standard UNSC rifle for your mission. Simmons and Grif had already grabbed theirs before you. You, on the other hand, had tried to put off coming back here for as long as possible, for obvious reasons. Luckily, Donut had stepped out before you arrived and Lopez retrieved your weapon for you instead. After thanking him, you rush off to the loading bay.

Walking through the doors, you spot your team standing around a warthog. Your eyes lock onto Sarge’s form, his back to you. You mentally prepare yourself for interaction. You opt to slip your helmet on as well, mostly to hide any facial features from him.

You stride up the Red Team, double checking to make sure the safety is on your gun before latching it on your back. At the sound of it clicking into place, Sarge turns. His helmet is off so you can see how his naturally hard features light up at the sight of you. You’re not sure how to feel about it personally, but if you were anyone else you’d call it endearing.

“Hey, there good lookin’! Glad to see you!” His rough voice exclaims. You forgot how different it sounded in person rather than on video feed. After hearing Donut’s voice for three days straight it felt like music to your ears.

You smile behind your helmet before you realize it. Preparing to answer back with, “Didn’t miss  _your_ ugly mug,” you stop yourself as he prepares to hug you. Your smile disappears as you quickly place a hand on his shoulder to keep him at a distance. Then, realizing you probably overreacted, you awkwardly pat his shoulder.

“Good to see you too Gramps.” Sidestepping him a bit, you stand between him and Simmons. He blinks before shaking off your dismissal, smiling a bit wider. Continuing with whatever conversation he was having with his two subordinates, you listen quietly.

As you listen, you eyes freely look over your Colonel, another bonus with the helmet on you suppose. After being away for three days on a mission, his stubble is back and honestly, it looks...Really good. You hate to admit it, but it does. The shadow look accented his square jaw, adding to the overall calloused, rough commander vibe he has going on. _He may be old but at least he’s not ugly._

“Alright, soldiers, let’s move out!” Kimball’s voice rings out over the commlinks. The sudden loudness of her voice startles you out of your admiring. Quickly shaking the scare off, you look to the Warthog that would seat everyone. Well almost everyone. There’s really only room three. More than likely you’d have to ride with two of your cadets in your own vehicle instead of with the Reds.

Usually, you’d feel ecstatic about the news, but this time there was a quiet underlining of disappointment. You start to turn around to pick out a warthog to catch a ride in, but you’re stopped by an armor-gloved hand.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, Missy?”

Turning, you look up at Sarge who has still not put his helmet in place. You get to look at his dark grey eyes as he stares down at you amusingly.

“Uh, picking a car to get in?” you answer.

“No need! You’re riding with us!” he points to the passenger seat.

“How are four of us supposed to fit? And no, Simmons is not sitting in my lap,” Grif protests.

“Why do you assume _I’m_ the one who sits on top?” Simmons questions, sounding insulted.

“Do you _want_ two tons on your lap?” Grif asks rhetorically.

Simmons pauses for a moment, “Fair point.”

“Quiet! It’s gentlemanly to let the lady sit up front!” Sarge argues. Hand on your armored back, he guides you to the other side of the car, leaving no room for argument. “You and Grif can sit in the back together,” he says to Simmons.

“But there’s hardly any room-”

“Whoop! Look at that, we’re movin’ out! Hop in boys or we’re leaving you behind!” He hollers to the two of them as the band of soldiers start to roll forward in their tanks and cars.

“You realize that’s not a punishment,” Grif states.

“Get in the damn car Grif!” Sarge growls as you climb in with him. Grumbling, the two Captains squish together in the back with the turret. It had to be incredibly comfortable.

After locking his helmet into place, Sarge turns the Hog on, following after the line of vehicles. As you drive along, you can’t help but feel lighter. Perhaps it was the feeling of freedom of being away from Donut or maybe it was the possibility that you could actually win the war. If you manage to take Alpha back, you would all be free at last. This thought helps distract you from the crazy cook beside you as he argues with the two in the back.

Glancing to your left, you halfheartedly listen to the argument happening between the red team members.

“I swear to God,” Simmons groans.

“Dude, you knew what you were signing up for when you met me,” Grif counters.

“I thought I’d have a competent teammate, not a pig!”

Sarge barks out in laughter at that. “Good one Simmons!”

You raise a brow, turning your head slightly to look at him. _It really wasn’t._

“Sticks and stones, Simmons,” Grif replies blatantly, eating a hoagie from the mess hall. Now you understood why Simmons was complaining, the condiments and crumbs were dropping everywhere.

A couple land in Sarge’s hair, causing him to turn and yell at the man. As a result, the hog veers to the right, driving over a particularly large rock. You to bounce in your seat roughly. Gripping your seat, you try to shoot Sarge a glare for his carelessness but remember your helmet is on and he can't see it.

“Jesus, you almost threw us out of the truck!” Grif exclaiming, righting himself as the car settles on the smooth ground once more.

“No one likes a backseat driver, Grif!” Sarge says, eyes back on the road. As if to spite Grif, he gases the hog suddenly, causing you all to jerk back. He laughs when Grif almost drops his sandwich.

“God, easy on the gas Sarge,” you reprimand.

At this, he turns his head away from the road to stare at you. You can already guess what it looks like: purely appalled. “I’m an excellent driver for your information! And I'm only having a little fun” he defends, the road ahead of him completely forgotten. It would've been humorous had it not been for the fact that you're all steering off course. “I expect that kind of attitude from Grif, not from you!” He continues.

“Sarge!” you warn anxiousness lining your words as the hog turns further away from the road. Quickly, the Colonel swerves back into place, grunting. “Meant to do that. Just checking to make sure you're all on your toes for the fight.” Slowly, you relax your grip on the side of the vehicle.

“Right,” you say.

As everything settles down, you hear the two captains behind you start a road trip game. You don’t really follow it as you look out at the landscape instead. Silence reins between you and Sarge as a result and you can tell it’s getting to him.

“So...How was your week?” Sarge prompts at last.

“Mm, Hell,” you answer honestly.

He turns his head to look at you, but you place a finger on his helmet, turning it back to the road. He chuckles, “Why?”

“Donut.”

“Ah,” he says, understanding fully, “That boy has an...Interesting personality.”

You snort in agreement. Quietness reins again. Now it’s getting to you. Your leg bounces lightly on the floorboard as you try to think of something else to get the conversation rolling again. Normally it wasn’t hard for you at all, but this time was different. You couldn’t figure out why, though.

“Nice weather we’re having…” Sarge comments. You internally cringe at the overused sentence. _Never took him for small talk._

“Yep,” you reply, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“Not a cloud in the sky.”

“Mmhm…”

Fucking silence. You hate it.

“So, what was up with earlier?” you ask, deciding to just bite the bullet and speak.

“What?” He asks, glancing at you through his visor.

“In the command room. You trying to make a date with me in the middle of a meeting,” You elaborate.

“Oh! I just thought it was a great opportunity to bring it up! After all, we enjoyed our last--”

“Sarge, in the middle of a conference call is _not_ a great opportunity.”

He pauses. “Well, how was I supposed to know?!”

“The fact that we’re in the middle of a war room talking about battle should’ve been your first clue.”

He grunts, dismissing your reasoning.

“Don’t grunt at me!” you say. “You need to learn when it’s appropriate to talk to me about our...relationship. In front of Kimball is definitely not appropriate by the way!”

“She was being a bit--”

“Sarge!” you hiss, hitting his arm, effectively cutting him off. However, it makes him swerve slightly at the force of your throw.

“Damn, woman be careful!”

“You don’t just call your leader that!” You scorn, ignoring his warning.

“My mama told me to never lie!” He argues.

You scoff, turning your head to fully look at him. “You lie all the time.”

“No I don’t!” he says, accent thickening.

“Don’t avoid the subject,” you continue, “Don’t talk back to your leader and never ask me out on a date in front of high ranking officers.”

“Fine,” he grunts, “Anything else _mom_.”

“Yeah actually,” you say, leaning forward a little more so he can look you in the eyes, or well, your helmet.

“Why would you pick a _battlefield_ for a date location?”

“I thought we discussed this already!” he says, helmet tilting some to look at you.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m curious because I remember telling you I didn’t consider that a place for a date.”

“I’m picking the when and where anyway sweetheart! Suck it up!” he decides, straightening up in his seat as if his decision was final.

Your eyes twitched. You did not appreciate the tone he just used with you. Before you could scold him again, you hear Grif clear his throat.

Turning, you see him and Simmons watching you both. “Lovers’ quarrel already?” Grif asks.

Almost immediately, the warthog lurches over a pothole, causing Grif to fall backward in the car roughly. “Agh, fuck!” He yelps, bringing Simmons down with him. You hear them curse as the hog bucks them back and forth. Gripping onto your own seat, you turn to look at Sarge who looks incredibly smug for someone with a helmet on. You hear him chuckle to himself as Grif and Simmons struggle to get upright again.

“My bad boys,” he says, correcting his course.

You can’t help but crack a smile. That didn’t mean he was off the hook, however.

“Seriously, why do you want to have a date on the battlefield at all?” Your tone a lot less agitated.

“Because I love the thrill of battle! I want you by my side while we crush those dirtbag pirates together! It’ll be glorious, a chorus of angels will sing!” He replies, becoming animated in his answer. “I enjoy kicking ass with my soldiers, I want you there too!”

You mull over his answer. _Well...I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to his terms._ Sighing, you relax into your seat, staring ahead. As you sit there, you start to realize that your partner probably already planned to carry on with his date plans no matter what Kimball said.

“You know Kimball said no right?”

“So?”

Turning your head to look at him, you can almost envision the shit-eating grin on his face as he glances back. You shake your head in mild disbelief. “You know, sometimes I think you’re a child in an adult body.”

“Thanks...I think.”  


 

The rest of the trip was spent either staring out at the landscape, talking with Sarge, or commenting on Grif and Simmons’ game, ‘Most Useless Superpower’. You didn’t have a lot of options for entertainment and unfortunately couldn’t sleep the drive off either. Not with Sarge driving. 

The trip so far was relatively uneventful, at least until Simmons mentioned something about only flying north during their game. You’d never seen Grif get so adamant about something in your life. Well, other than his missing food. He argued with Simmons as if his life depended on it. It wasn’t too bad listening to the dispute, but once it reached an hour, you about had it. When you told them to stop, Sarge only fueled the fire by taking Simmons’ side later. You shot him an ice-cold glare.

Needless to say, as soon as you parked at the only gas station on the planet, you were ready to split from the group and their squabbling. Hopping out, you strode off towards the building.

You walk inside and the first thing that hits you is the smell. Death. You wrinkle your nose as you look around the trashed place. A few splotches on the floor suspiciously looked like dried blood. You pick your way through the place, looking for something you could occupy yourself with while driving to Alpha. You thought about bringing some snacks back with you as well, but knowing Grif, he’d take them from you before you could say ‘Dammit.’

Working your way around the front, you decide that there’s nothing of interest for you and head to one of the back hallways that leads to the bathrooms and janitors closet. The custodian room was empty except for a few spider webs and a turned over table, but the bathroom was filled in the worst way possible. Now you knew where the smell was coming from, and it wasn’t the sewage tank.

You quickly leave the room, pacing back up to the front. Weaving through the aisle once more. You decide to bring some of the dried jerky-sticks with you. Slipping your helmet off, you grab the food and toss it inside as a makeshift basket.

Just as you turn to leave Sarge walks in. His helmet is off as well.

“What’s up,” you ask nonchalantly, “We ready to move out again?”

“Nah, everyone’s still fueling up. There are only two pumps to use, so we’ll be here a while.”

“Ah,” you say, continuing forward.

As you walk past the red soldier, however, he steps in front of you. You shuffle a step back so you don’t crash into him. You toss him a confused look, before trying to walk around him again. He steps out in front of you once more. You frown, trying one last time to walk away from him. This time, he crowds you against one of the aisles. “Sarge.” You warn.

“What, can’t a man just stand anymore?” He’s smirking.

_He really likes testing my patience, doesn’t he?_

Instead of weaving out from him, you stand your ground and cross your arms. “You’re being a child,” you state.

He shrugs, “What’re you going to do about it?” He wants to play, does he? Alright, I’ll play.

You shrug back in return, cocking your head, “Oh, I don’t know, kick you in the crotch again.” You can almost see him remember the sparring room. He just ever so slightly leans his hips away from you.

“That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do to your commanding officer,” He says.

“Your promotion wasn’t approved by the UNSC, so technically you’re not my commanding officer.”

“To Hell with that; I never followed their protocol in the first place,” he huffs

“No kidding?” you reply sarcastically, smirking.

He lets out a small chuckle at your sass, “Heh, you’re a firecracker that’s for sure.” Your stomach feels weird again. Maybe it’s because of the stench of death in the building? “You’re the only person who’s allowed to give me lip,” he adds.

You smile “Oh, I’m special?”

“Damn special.” All of a sudden your threat to punt him in the groin leaves his head as he leans in closer to you. The air has changed and you’re not entirely sure you like it. It makes you feel anxious.

After a few tense seconds of quiet as he heatedly stares at you, you catch his hands moving up to your face out of the corner of your eye. Your heart jumps in alarm. You weren’t sure if he was planning to try to kiss you or not, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Sarge,” you say, grabbing his wrists, preventing him from continuing. He looks at you. “Relax sweetheart, I’m not going to bite you,” he chuckles. His eyes remain locked onto yours and you feel pinned to the spot. The air is definitely thicker than it was before, and shit why is he looking at you like that? It made your knees feel like putty.

You sense rather than see him lean a bit forward before you release his wrists and place them on his chest piece.

“Sarge, this really isn’t the time for you to play Prince Charming,” you say, snapping out of your stupor.

He smirks, “So I’m your Prince Charming?”

“Wha-No!” you say, trying to move back and give yourself space, but forget the aisle is behind you. When you bump into it tilts dangerously backward. You curse, arms reaching out for it, dropping your helmet and your beef-jerky to the floor. Sarge reaches out as well. Unfortunately, one of his arms grabs your back to steady you while the other helps balance the shelf. Once you both correct it upright again, Sarge looks back down at you. You, on the other hand, have to turn and look up, which is quite uncomfortable with the position you’re in. He's practically caged you against his armor.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re flustered, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your face feels warm.

“It’s only fair if you get to call me Prince Charming,” he smirks, laughing at your pink cheeks.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I meant stop acting like this is a romantic date where you pull the looking-deep-into-her-eyes cliche,” you huff, squirming out of the awkward embrace you were in and bend down to pick up your helmet.

“Alright, Missy, don’t get your knickers in a knot!” he chuckles, bending down to help you pick up the jerky. “All I wanted was a kiss.”

“No,” you halfheartedly growl.

He shrugs, “Guess I’ll have to keep trying.”

You sputter, unhappy with the implication that now you’re going to have to dodge more than bullets these next few hours. “You’re too much sometimes,” you say, flashing him a disapproving look.

“You flatter me, sweetheart,” he grins back. Your heart stutters at the smile. _Dammit, why does he looks so...fuck!_ You don’t let yourself finish the thought.  _Just don't think about it._

Quickly, you stand to your feet. “Right, well, I’m done in here so,” you point over your shoulder at the door, “I’m going to head out.” You’re itching at the seems to get away from the man. You’ve never felt this weird around him before.

“Mind if I walk you to your car pretty lady? Might be ruffians out there lurking.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, “You’re a ruffian!” He laughs, following after you. 


	11. Battle Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the month wait, I often have to put this story on the back burner whenever my work piles up. Hopefully, you won't have to wait this long again but I can't guarantee it.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Embarrassed and flustered, you lean heavily against the Warthog with Sarge by your side. He had yet to leave you alone and you still had more than 30 minutes to wait. Only about a half of the army had refueled. During the wait, Sarge has been trying to ‘subtly’ wrap his arm around your shoulder. With both of you in armor, it made his attempts clunky and awkward, but he didn’t let this deter him.

Currently, both of his hands are propping him up against the Hog’s side, but of his hands are right behind your back. Knowing it was so close put your hair on end.

“How many vehicles are left?” You ask, wishing your stomach would stop doing those flips every time you glanced his way. Sarge hums, turning his head, looking towards the line, “A little less than half, Princess.”

“What even was the point of making that rule if you never follow it?” You ask, more to yourself than him.

He grins cheekily, not replying, but scooting a smidge closer to you. You even sensed his arm coming up from behind you, preparing to rest on your shoulder. You manage to catch it before it lands and remove it from your proximity.

He chuckles good-naturedly. He was enjoying himself; you wish you could say the same for yourself. Simmons and Grif had all but left the two of you alone, much to your dismay, in favor of talking with their own recruits.  _ Probably wanted to avoid the awkward tension between us. _ You don’t blame them, it felt as if you were suffocating. Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding and your lungs kept restricting.  _ It’s just Before-Battle-Nerves. Yeah--yeah that has to be it.  _

Glancing back over at Sarge from the corner of your eye you spot him casually leaning against the hog, staring back at you. Upon noticing he caught your eye, he flashes a rogue grin at you. You feel your face flare.  _ It’s just nerves, it’s just nerves. _ You chant to yourself as your heart palpitates.  

You hate how you’re reacting around him, it makes you feel...Well, you don’t know what it makes you feel like, but that’s what’s so annoying about it! Thinking back, you try to remember when you first started acting nervous around him. It was sometime after he got back from his Temple escapade, you knew that much. A cheeky voice in your head suddenly speaks up, “ _ Absence makes the heart grow fonder _ .” You frown at the taunting tone it throws at you.  _ Shut the hell up. _ You retort. You can practically hear the voice cackling.

There was no way you were acting soft around him because he was gone for a few days. No. It had to be something else.

Suddenly you feel armor bump into your own as the Colonel leans heavily against you. His arm is around your shoulders and he’s looking at you expectantly as, waiting eagerly for your reaction.

“Whatcha thinking about?” He asks, his stupid smile flashing at you.  _ Why I’m suddenly attracted to you. _

“How much I want to rip out your spleen.” You answer instead, a bit embarrassed by your mind’s thought process. You were hoping that your response would make him remove his arm from you, but it simply remained there. You debated removing it yourself but decided it was a pointless action. If your threat didn’t scare him off then nothing would and you might as well accept your fate. Keeping your gaze away from his own, you stood beside him for the rest of the refueling. Fully aware that his grin had grown two sizes more upon realizing that you were going to let his arm stay.

When the troops finally did start moving again, you were more than happy to hide from behind your helmet. As a consequence, the beef jerky you had acquired had to be dumped somewhere else and Grif was more than happy to “hold it” for you. 

Sarge had yet to put his helmet back on and you're 97% sure it’s because he wants you to see how  _ smug _ he is.  _ Bastard _ . Definitely should’ve removed his arm when you had the chance. You tried desperately to ignore the man beside you, but it was impossible when he kept veering off the pathway or drove into a large pothole. Any normal person would just assume he was a bad driver, but you knew he was doing it so you’d pay attention to him. Every bump he hit he’d glance your way with that fucking smirk. You, however, refused to take the bait and kept your mouth shut.

You bounce wildly as Sarge drives over a particularly rough patch of gravel. Simmons and Grif shout complaints, but they go unheard by either of you. Glancing to your left you make eye contact with Sarge, a glint in his eye that was practically daring you to say something. You crossed your arms and stared ahead. 

He took that as a challenge because within the next few minutes the ride smooths out. You’re immediately suspicious. A few minutes go by without so much as a blink from him. But then, he brings his elbow up on the console between the two of you. Your hair stood on end at the movement, but you refused to say anything. At this point, Simmons and Grif have picked up on the childish game the two of you were playing. They also made you painfully aware of your stupid behavior. Grif more so than Simmons.

“Jesus fucking Christ I’m going to take my chances and jump into another car,” you hear him groan. Under normal circumstances, you might’ve been worried about his statement, but you’re too hyper-aware of Sarge’s arm to care.  _ Simmons is 90% of his impulse control, it’s fine. _ You reassure yourself.

Within a few seconds, he shifts his hand over to your side. You eye his limp hand as it dangles dangerously close to your knee. A glance up shows you his shit eating grin. Despite the helmet blocking your expression from view, you glare at him, silently daring him to just try it. You’re not sure what you’re going to do if he does, but you’re sure as hell not going to let it slide.

Your heart is pounding and your muscles are tense as you wait for Sarge to make a move, even the smallest twitch. But it never comes, and it’s fucking torture. You’re on edge the whole ride, waiting for him to try something, but he never does. Whenever he does shift, it’s just his leg or the other arm. It’s stressing you out and he  _ knows _ . 

_ Jesus, if you’re going to do it just do it already! _ Your brain screams at him. 

Suddenly, his hand moves, and you jump, expecting it to reach for your thigh but instead, it moves towards the radio. The song that plays is so out of place and...It sounds like a mariachi band? Turning your gaze back up to Sarge, you stare at him in disbelief. He’s smug as hell.

“Asshole,” you say at last. The first word you’ve said to him since the gas station.

He chuckles, smirking, “What were you expecting sweetheart?”

You grind your teeth, face heating just a tad. You weren’t going to say it aloud, because that’s what he wanted. Shaking your head, you blow out a long breath.

“Why do I even put up with your antics?” you ask, staring at him. He’s still smiling with uncontrolled mirth and it makes his features appear softer. You decide you like his face a lot more like that.  _ Dammit, I shouldn't like it regardless! _

“I think it’s because you really do have a soft for me darlin,” he smirks, winking at you. You prepare to respond with a snarky comment, but you’re interrupted by the massive battle tank in front of you when it abruptly stops. Sarge slams on the breaks, narrowly avoiding rear-ending the vehicle.

As a result, Simmons and Grif practically fly forward on top of you, cursing at the sudden jolt. 

“Damn, that was close,” Sarge hisses. Foot still on the brake pedal, he rises from his seat and shouts up at the man inside the tank, as if the soldier inside could actually hear him.

“What’s the big idea, you galoot!? Why’re we stopping?”

As expected, no one answers him. Dropping back to his seat, he huffs. Placing the Warthog in Park, he crosses his arms. The wait doesn’t last long though, because Kimball comes on over the transmitter within a few minutes. “We’re approaching Crash Site Alpha, all squads remember your sectors.” 

At this, you sit a bit straighter. Bringing up your gun from the floorboard, you double check it’s loaded and keep it in hand. “Which sector are we in again?” You ask everyone. “Sarge was in charge with the sign-ups.”

Simmons and Grif turn their heads slowly towards Sarge. “The front lines,” Grif answers, glaring daggers at the Colonel. You widen your eyes, staring at your him in disbelief.

“What?”

He beams at you. “Yep!”

You stare for a long time, slowly turning to face forward again.  _ I’m actually going to kill him _ . If you didn’t have your helmet on currently, you might’ve smashed your head into the dashboard. Breathing deeply through your nose to calm your anger, you lean back and reach behind your seat, snatching the Colonel’s helmet from the baseboard. You hand it harder to him than needed.

He grunts a “Thanks” before slipping it on. After he does, the trail of war vehicles begins to crawl forward once more. Silence settles over everyone, leaving nothing but the mariachi band playing on the radio.  _ It’s like I’m in a bad action-comedy. _

Sarge drives your group up closer to the front, the temple looming ahead of you. As you ride into Alpha, you ready your heat scanner and gun, double checking everything. You spot two heat signatures just ahead. You take aim with your rifle and begin firing at the unsuspecting pirates. The sound of bullets flying causes a chorus of them to rise up from all angles. Sarge shouts a battle cry as the Hog barrels past and even on top of, the merc’s lackeys. 

You hear the turret firing from behind you as you push forward on the front lines. You met little resistance as you rolled through the dusty grounds, causing a tiny spark of hope to ignite in your belly.  _ Maybe the report was wrong. Maybe the mercs are outmanned after all. _

A nervous grin spreads on your face as you allow yourself to think this. You wish you hadn’t. The little flicker of hope all but diminishes upon hearing a deep rumble from above. Looking up, you’re met with a dark ship that fills the sky. You see black dots falling from the bay doors and the dots are  _ armed. _

“Well,  _ shit _ ,” you hiss.

Immediately you turn to Sarge beside you in the Hog. “We need to get cover, leave the car!” 

“What? Are you crazy?” Sarge asks. 

“We’re sitting out in the open, they’ll shoot us like ducks!” you argue.

“The Warthog is the safest place-”

As if scripted, a pirate lands on the hood of the car. Instinct kicking in, you fire three shots at the man, effectively killing him. His limp body rolls off the vehicle’s front.

“You were saying?” You growl.

“Beginners luck!” he pouts.

Rolling your eyes, you scan the area around you. You see a few cadets hiding behind a scraggly rock, reloading. Pirates are still landing all around you, guns blazing and a few more land close to the recruits. Swiftly, you raise your weapon and fire at the black armored men. Unfortunately, your shots miss as Sarge drives you past them.

“Sarge go back!”

“Why? We’re needed up here!”

“There are some recruits-”

The hog jerks as it crashes into another person.

“What was that?” he shouts over the sound of war.

“Ugh, just head on up, I’ll meet up with you later!” You shout to your team, leaping out of the moving vehicle.

You hear Sarge shout something at you, probably, “Insubordination!” as you rush towards the pinned soldiers hiding. Upon seeing your Captain insignia on your chest piece, they visibly relax as you slide up beside them. 

“Captain, there’s too many of them, we can’t get out of here!” one of them shouts.

You check around the corner of the rock to see five more pirates land near you. One of them spots your helmet poking out from behind the rock and begins firing at you. Cursing, you jerk your head back. 

“Fall back!” you order, pointing to another shelf of rocks behind you. “I’ll cover you!” As they duck and run towards the stone you run and duck behind another stone, catching the attention of two of the men. As they shoot at you, you faintly hear the mariachi music playing in the distance. You don’t pay much attention to it and return your focus back the enemies before you.

Taking aim, you hit one of the soldiers in the head as she aimed at your recruits. Cocking your rifle again, you take cover under the shelf of rock before you as her friend retaliates against you. Cursing, you check back behind you to see that the squad of recruits had successfully made it behind another shelter of rocks further back. 

It’s then that you realize the mariachi music is a lot closer than you originally thought.

Turning your head to the right you watch the warthog barrel through the group of pirates like a bowling ball. Simmons and Sarge are firing at all angles, taking down the remaining soldiers that still stood. Standing, you see that Grif is in the driver’s seat now. Once all the surrounding black-clad soldiers have been taken care of, Grif turns the Warthog towards you.

Once it stops, Sarge swiftly reaches down for you.

“Dammit, woman! Don’t go jumping out of moving cars!”

“You’re one to talk, you jumped with the car!” you say grabbing his offered hand.

Yanking you into the car with him, he sits down in the passenger seat, bringing you into his lap. Your prepare to object, but Grif speeds off at 100mph, causing you to jerk back with the force, hitting your helmet against Sarge’s.

“Heh, kinda cozy ain’t it?” Sarge chuckles into your audio receptors. 

“Shut up,” you fire back, face growing warm, “Where the Hell are we going?”

“We’re regrouping with Wash,” Grif shouts. “Kimball’s supposed to meet us there too.”

Your stomach drops.  _ Are we really that outnumbered? _ You shift in Sarge’s lap so you’re not fully lying atop him, but that proves to be dangerous as you almost fly out of the seat when the orange soldier takes a sharp turn. Sarge is quick to grab you and steady you.

“Jesus,” you breath. Grif was one hell of a driver. Probably worse than Sarge. 

When you lurch to a stop outside the crashed cargo ship, you hastily get up from Sarge’s lap. Pulling out your rifle again, you run towards the run-down ship that’s crashed against a large rock. The rest of the Red team is on your tail. The opening of the ship is guarded by a few federal army soldiers. They cover your entrance as you all rush inside.

The four of you navigate through the debris inside the ship until you reach the inner hull where Kimball and Washington are standing. Even with her helmet on, you can tell the Commander is worried. 

“We need a fucking plan, there’s too many of them out there!” Grif says, stopping in front of the two. “It was an ambush,” Kimball says, venom in her voice. It put you on edge hearing her so angry. “Felix set this up,” she continues, “We need a solution and we need it now. Our men are dropping like flies and they’re not going to last long enough until the reinforcements arrive.”

“I got it!” Sarge exclaims, “I’ll drive in with the warthog and-”

“We’re not doing that!” Grif interrupts. 

“It’s a great plan!” Sarge argues. You have no idea what they’re talking about, but you already know from experience that  _ any _ of Sarge’s plans are bad.

“It’ll get you killed. On second thought, nevermind, it’s a great plan!”

“Why you-!” As soon as Sarge attempts to move towards the orange soldier, you quickly place yourself between them, pushing the Colonel back. 

“Sarge,” you say, warning him. 

While you’re busy keeping Sarge from mauling Grif, Simmons steps in and offers another plan. “Assuming the engines in this hunk of metal are as fucked as I think they are, I should be able to make us a smokescreen big enough to cover our escape. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but it’s our best chance.”

Kimball sighs, “It’ll have to do. Red Team, you and Wash take care of this, comm when you’re ready, I’ll let the troops know the plan.” The Commander exits the ship’s hull and makes it back outside into the fray of bullets. A few federal soldiers follower her. 

“Now...we gotta find the engine,” Simmons mutters to himself.

You glance back at your friend, still holding Sarge at bay, “Any chance the schematics for this ship are still in the logs?”

“Probably not,” he responds.

“Lovely,” Grif grunts.

Catching movement from the corner of your eye you turn to the entrance Kimball just exited. You see the Reds and Blues’ top four cadets’ duck inside. Simmons notices them as well.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“We heard you needed to find an engine,” Smith replies, a proud smile in his voice. You raise an eyebrow. “That fast?”

“Well uh, we might’ve been eavesdropping…” he admits. 

You remove your hands from Sarge’s chest, seeing as he’s calm again, and place them on your hips. “Sounds about right,” you mutter to yourself. The Captains of this quad were anything but strict with conduct so it doesn’t surprise you that their protégés were listening in on their headsets. 

“But we know where the engine room is,” Smith says. 

“And I know how to work it!” Jenson adds on.

“The problem is, the room is under heavy fire. We think it’s a sniper,” Bitters informs you all. You hear Wash grunt behind you in response to this news. “Leave the sniper to me,” he says in a cold voice. He marches his way back down the hallway without another word. You watch him disappear from view before Sarge leans down to your ear. 

“Felix was right, he is melodramatic.” A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You lightly jab Sarge with your elbow to shush him halfheartedly. 


	12. Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's not dead????  
> I have battled Midterms, Senior papers, Senior presentations, fevers, and one of the longest colds I've had in my life, but I have prevailed!
> 
> Sorry for the very, VERY long wait! Enjoy!

You’d all barely made any progress towards the other engine room, the one that _wasn’t_ under heavy fire, before Washington comes through everyone’s helmets. “Ok, I think I have a rough idea where Locus is, but he’s using his invisibility enhancement, I can’t get an accurate shot.”

“No problem Sir, you just need to lure him out, Bitters and I can spot him for you,” Smith replies diligently.

“Are you sure that will work?”

“85% positive, Sir.”

“I can work with those odds. I’m on the southwest side of the crash site. Rendezvous with me there.”

“Yes, Sir,” Smith confirms.

“Ok, we can split up and each take an engine then,” Simmons says. “Grif, Sarge, and I can take the turbine inside the ship.”  

“I’ll go with Jensen and Palomo then,” You volunteer, quickly. Sarge whips his head between you and Simmons. Obviously, unhappy with either of your decisions.

“Now wait a second-”

“They’ll need backup,” you interrupt him, “Plus Simmons and Grif will need your accurate aim while they work on the engine.” You attempt to stroke his ego in the process of brushing him aside. You really didn’t think it best if you went along with him, you’d be a distraction for him more than anything. He faltered for a minute, to bask in your compliment, before opening his mouth to object again. Smith, however, beats him to the punch.

“If you continue down this hallway it should be on your left,” he tells Simmons.

“Alright, let’s go,” the maroon soldier says, walking forward in the direction Smith had pointed to. You, Jensen, and Palomo follow behind Smith as he guides you all towards Wash’s location. Bitters walked behind to cover the rear.

Ducking under a few large scraps of metal that are barely hanging onto the side of the ship, you keep pace with your new teammates. Truthfully, you’ve never had any interactions with the Reds and Blues’ lieutenants. Being a captain of your own squad, you never had a reason to. However, you did know about Palomo, thanks to his blabbering about your and Sarge’s relationship. You wanted nothing more than to smack him upside the head, but given that you all were on a time sensitive, last minute retreat, you decided to ignore the urge to do so.

“Alright, it should be just outside,” You hear Smith say. “The engine should be up on the right. It’s in the open though, so we’ll have to be careful.” He informs everyone.

“Palomo and I can give Jesen cover while you two help Washington,” You suggest to the Lieutenant.

He nods, “Once we get Locus out, start the smokescreen, Jensen.”

“Roger that!” You hear her reply cheerfully.

Exiting the broken ship, all five of you duck and run towards a broken off section of the ship where the four walls were all but gone. Only one side of the room had a waist-high wall. _Not much cover to work with._

Quickly, you take your place beside the only cover optional, you kneel and take your gun in hand. Smith and Bitters post up further down, closer to Wash’s location, sitting and waiting for Locus to make himself known.

Taking aim and using your scope, you search for lurking pirates or mercenaries. Spotting a few, you open fire. One falls but the other swiftly takes cover behind a chunk of metal from the numerous spaceships. You hear Palomo firing behind you on the opposite side of the platform as Jensen starts to fiddle with the engine and its control panel.

“How long do you think this will take?” You ask out of curiosity. Firing again at the hiding enemy.

“Not sure, but let’s just hope for the best and say ten minutes!”

_Okay, ten minutes. We can last ten minutes._

A barrage of bullets pelts your wall, causing you and Jensen to duck from the ricochets. You quickly return fire, noticing the lone pirate now has back up. Pausing to reload your rifle, you hear your comm come online. Looking up at the top left of your helmet you see it’s Sarge’s frequency.

“How’s it going up there?” You hear him ask.

You roll your eyes. Only Sarge would carry a normal conversation during a battle...Five minutes after he’s seen you last.

“Fine. Shouldn’t you be helping Simmons and Grif?” You ask back, popping back up from your crouched position to fire again. One of the pirates hit the dirt.

“Naw, they got it covered. Besides, no pirates down here on the east side of the ship!”

Continuing to fire down at the pirates, you struggle to hit another one as they continuously duck behind rocks and sheets of metal. Your position is barely ten feet off the ground, meaning you don’t have a large advantage over them with higher ground.

Grunting, you answer with slight agitation, “Good for you.”

You notice Smith and Bitters take a few shots down by a large boulder before you spot Locus’ armor invisibility fail him. Your heart leaps at the small victory. With the sniper out, it’d be easier to get out of here.

Momentarily distracted by Locus, you barely avoid a bullet that whisks by your head, pinging against the engine behind you, causing Jensen to squawk in surprise.

“I’m good!” She claims a second later before you have a chance to check on her yourself.

Twisting your attention back to your front, you aim once more and let a wave of bullets pelt the rock one of the slimy bastards are hiding behind.

“Sounds like you’re givin’ them Hell!” Sarge comments.

“Sarge-” You huff, ducking down once more to dodge their bullets, “Now’s really not the time to be talking-” Glancing over, you quickly assess how Palomo is handling his side. Only for a bullet to fly past you and nearly hit him.

“Shit! Palomo, they can see you standing from my side, duck down!” You order. He does as you instruct, reloading his rifle. He returns his own fire down below him.

“Haha! Eat it!” You hear his proud shout over the constant noise of gunfire.

“What happened?” Sarge asks.

“Don’t worry about it.” You curtly answer back. Rising back up after reloading your weapon, you quickly pin the black-clad soldiers back to their spots, hitting one in the shoulder and another in the leg.

“That’s a weak answer and you know it!” Sarge argues.

“Sarge, shut up I’m busy!” You shout, continuing to fire. If you could get these bastards down, Palomo can finally stand and protect his side of the platform properly. Best not to leave an opening for them.

“Do you need back up?” He asks.

“No!” You growl. A shot fires off and another pirate goes down. _Has it been ten minutes yet? How much longer till we get the smoke screen up?_ You want to look back to check, but think better of it.

“Just focus on the mission Sarge!” You say, diving down once more.

“Relax woman, just trying to make sure you’re okay-”

“Sarge you’re distracting me-”

“Am not-”

“Sarge-” The moment you stand up to fire again you feel a flash of pain in your right clavicle. Registering it as a hit, you attempt to quickly kneel down again, but another burst of agony strikes your upper back near your shoulder blade. _Fuck._ Crying out, you crash to the floor. Clutching desperately at your shoulder.

“Captain!” You hear someone shout.

_Holy fuck!_

Gritting your teeth, you open your eyes that had been squeezed shut to see Palomo now standing,  firing at someone down on your side. His shots sound muffled as your blood rushes loudly in your ears. There’s also distant shouting in your ear, but it feels far away.

Your whole arm and shoulder feel numb, but you know it’s bleeding; the blood beneath you is a clear sign. Groaning, you strip off your shoulder guard, applying pressure to your clavicle to stop the bleeding. _Fucking Hell; it’s been a while since I’ve felt this_.

Blearily, you glance over to Jensen who’s jumping up from the engine compartment. She turns to Palomo shouting something at him.

You barely register him replying, “Don’t shout at me, I don’t work well under pressure!” You feel his arms suddenly grab you under the armpit, causing you to hiss in pain as your shoulder is moved. Jensen is now next to you, helping you up with her partner’s help. “Hurry,” she says, “We only have a few minutes before the smoke screen disperses!”

They’re dragging you back down the slope the engine rested on. You try your best to help them along, moving your feet at their pace despite how much your body protests at the movement. Before you know what’s happening, a medical warthog is in front of you and there are gallons of black smoke billowing around you. More arms help you climb in the car. You flop down beside...Well, you’re not sure who it is beside you; your mind can only focus so much. Right now it’s decided the most crucial matter are the two gaping bullet holes in your body. You’d have to agree with it on that.

Breathing harshly through your nose, you try to tell whoever is helping you remain upright in your seat where exactly you’re hit. After a few broken sentences through your clenched teeth, they get the message and begin tearing away your armor at the back. Soon you feel them apply pressure to the bullet wound through your undersuit.

The distant shouting is back in your ear, making you groan in discomfort. As you focus more on where it’s coming from-- _so you can punch whoever the hell is shouting so loud_ \--you come to realize it’s your comm. Concentrating more on the voice you recognize it as Sarge’s.

“Fucking answer me (Y/n)!” He screams into his communicator. It makes your head pound at his volume.

“Too loud-” you grumble back to him. You’re not sure if he heard you, given you could barely hear yourself, but his end goes quiet for a moment.

“Where are you?” He asks urgently.

You can’t reply, because the pain in your shoulder is getting worse as you slowly come out of shock.

“Fucking hell,” You drag out, hand clenching tightly onto someone’s arm.

“We’re heading back to base ma’am don’t worry,” You hear a soldier tell you. You didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded strained. You clumsily realize the voice belongs to the arm you’re currently holding in a vice-like grip. You let go, causing the person beside you to let out a sigh of relief.

“(Y/n)!” You hear Sarge shout again.

 _Must’ve waited too long to answer._ However, you didn’t have the strength or energy to reply to him. Your mouth was far to busy clenching with the bite force of a crocodile to open and reassure him. So instead, you weakly activate speaker mode on your helmet so the recruit beside you could hear the conversation.

“Dammit, woman answer me!” You hear him shout angrily, or was it worryingly? The person beside you jumps at the volume of your headset before quickly replying for you.

“Captain (Y/n) is on Warthog 35 with-”

“Is she alright? Why the hell ain’t she answering-”

“Sir, she’s hit and unable to talk right now-”

“Can you hear me, Princess?”

“Sir, please, lower your voice, she’s in a lot of pain-”

“Dammit, I shouldn’t have let her go with those-”

You wince in pain as his voice continues to rise in intensity.

Suddenly, the person at your back, currently applying pressure to your shoulder blade, takes their hands off you to remove your helmet. Glancing up, you see it’s Dr. Grey.

“Colonel, this is Dr. Grey; kindly shut up before my patient busts an eardrum.”

“Doc, how bad is-”

“I’m sorry, I can’t discuss this at the moment, but you can visit her in the medical wing once we arrive on base. Ta-ta!”

With that, she presses one of the buttons on the side of your helmet, effectively cutting off communications with Sarge. The only thing you can think of in response to this is how pissed off he’s going to be when he sees her next time. You let a small smile twist the corners of your mouth. _Good, maybe this will teach him not to do fucking small talk during missions_. Wincing as Dr. Grey re-applies pressure to your wound, you sigh inwardly. You just wish you didn’t have to be on the receiving end of Sarge’s consequences.

 

You go in and out of awareness as the warthog bounces down the rocky road. Unable to focus on anything fully, you passed the time by staring at the clouds and blue sky. Dr. Grey and the recruit on your left have stripped you of your armor completely and are now wrapping you in tight bandages.

“Once we get to base we’ll work on getting those bullets out, but for now try not to move too much,” Grey’s voice tells you. You mindlessly nod your head. Two bullets aren’t too bad you suppose, it could’ve been worse. So much worse. They could’ve hit you in the skull and killed you instantly.

The pain in your shoulder is a constant throb, but you do your best to ignore it. You’ve had worse, and will probably have worse in the future. You’re lucky, but you sure as hell will be sore for the next few weeks. With possible infections. You grimace at the thought.

 _Sarge is probably worried. I wonder if he’s tried contacting me again._ Flicking your eyes down, you spot your helmet on the floorboard. _Not that Grey would answer if he did. Much less let me respond._ A part of you is happy that she won’t let you talk to him right now...But the other part wants to call him and tell him to  _go fuck himself_ because if he hadn’t been talking to you, you wouldn't have been distracted so easily and gotten _shot_. Normally you were more careful than this, but with Sarge mixed in with the equation, anything could happen.

“How long until we reach Armonia?” You ask.

Grey hums, “Another thirty minutes.”

You wish you could bang your head against the headrest. It’s felt like hours for you. The smell of blood, dirt, the constant shaking of the car, and the throbbing of your wounds, it was driving you insane. You couldn’t wait to get into the medical wing and have surgery. Then you could sleep with the help of anesthesia and not wake up for eight hours because holy _fuck_ you’re so tired right now.

Staring up at the clouds, you feel envious of their lives. Unbothered, floating over the world, and free. Their fluffy, carelessness contrasted the dark, gloomy aurora that hovered over everyone, making the weight on your chest feel heavier.

Before long, you finally tear your eyes away from the sky, wincing as the movement causes the muscles around your clavicle to protest. Fighting through the pain, you look ahead and see Armonia. _Finally!_

Things began to move faster from there. Grey quickly moved you to the medical wing as well as hundreds of others. So many injured, but so many more dead; it made your heart sink. Stubbornly, you shove the depressing thoughts aside, refusing to acknowledge them. You’d win the war; you had to. After all, you had the Reds and Blues on your side. With that...admittedly mild reassurance, you allow your eyes to close. Your wounds aren’t as serious as the other soldiers’ around you so the medical team won’t get to you for a while. _Might as well try to sleep and get as much rest as I can._


	13. Evacuation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who managed to upload on time since freaking forever?? :D Let's hope I can keep this up!  
> Lopez's lines are translated at the bottom notes!

When you wake up the first thing you see is bright red armor. Sarge’s helmet is resting on your cot by your leg and he’s is staring into space beside you. His chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. Blinking, you sit up, or at least try to. The pain in your shoulder prevents you from getting the right leverage. At your grimace of pain and movement, Sarge turns to you.

“You got some explaining to do, missy.” His voice is softer than normal, but the scorn is still there.

You softly let out a fake laugh, “Me?”

“Yes, you,” He turns in his seat to face you more. 

Given up on trying to sit up, you relax back into the mattress. Glancing down you see you have clean bandages on your shoulder. Looking back up, you raise a brow at the Colonel. “You can hardly say it was  _ my _ fault I got shot,” you say. 

“Well, it wasn’t mine!”

“You were literally talking to me while I was fighting-”

“You women always brag about how well you multitask-”

“That’s no excuse to-”

“If you had just stuck with me this wouldn’t-”

“Oh, Colonel!” 

The third voice in the conversation causes you both to jump. Turning, you see Dr. Grey walking from the other room towards you. “I see you took my advice. However, I would appreciate it if you didn’t work my patients into a frenzy, especially when they’ve just come out of surgery.” The doctor continues, stopping on the opposite side of the cot.  _ I already went through surgery? That was fast; didn't even wake up. _

“Remember what we talked about earlier?” She asks sweetly. 

Sarge grumbles to himself. Grey smiles back at him, making him even poutier. 

“Well, good news Captain,” she says, addressing you, “Only one of the bullets were in your trapezius, the other passed through.”

“What kind of damage did they cause?” You ask, glancing down at your bandages. You happen to realize that they wrap fully around your  right pec, but not the other. Meaning if you weren't careful you might flash the two beside you. Subtly, you pull the covers a bit further up your collar bone. 

“ Luckily, your shoulder blade isn't shattered, but your clavicle was broken. Your arm brace will be arriving shortly to help your collarbone stay in alignment.”

You nod your head, “How long until I can get back into the field?”

“Well, my guess is a few weeks. Other than the clavicle and some torn muscle tissue, you should make a full recovery, but you will need physical therapy so your arm muscles perform at full functionality.”

At this Sarge sighs in relief. You smile and thank Grey as she heads out.

Silence settles over the both of you after she exits, leaving you to awkwardly pick at the thin blanket with your good arm.

A heavy sigh brings your attention to Sarge. He's rubbing his chin, staring at you with guilty eyes.  _ Is he going to apologize? _

“Sorry for, uh, yelling at ya. I just...I was just angry you went and got hurt.” He looks to be in pain as if the apology hurt to say. It's not quite what you wanted to hear but, you'll take what you can get.

“It’s alright, I know you're upset but it's war and sometimes this crap happens. Even to the best of us.”

“Well, I haven't gotten shot-” 

“I was talking in general,” you lightly chide.

“Ah.” He flicks his eyes around, scratching his scruff.

“Also…” you venture, gaining his attention again, “Maybe it's not a good idea to have a date on the battlefield.”

He opens his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut him off. 

“I know why you did it but the stakes are too high right now. If we're going to go on a date we need to do it when we're not in imminent danger.”

His brows are slightly furrowed, but he sighs again, nodding his head. “I reckon you're right...That was a pretty shitty date wasn't it?”

You chuckle lightheartedly, “Yeah, definitely wasn't planning on it going so sour.” You gesture to your arm as you say it. Sarge rubs his neck, cracking a small mirthless smile.

You didn't think your injury would affect him so much. Tapping your fingers gently against your covered leg, you look over him. He looks tired and stressed.

“So what's next? What do Doyle and Kimball want us to do?” You ask, trying to fill the silence.

Sarge sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing, those two are too busy scratchin’ at each other's throats to think of a damn plan,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

You sigh as well. “We're never going to win like this.”

Sarge grunts in agreement, “Wash wants Doc to try and see if he can get them on a middle ground.”

Raising your eyebrows slightly you ask, “Do you think that will work?”

“Tch, absolutely not! Those two are as stubborn as mules!”

You nod your head sadly. “So when are you going to try and make peace with them?”

“In a while, Wash sent me down here to fetch Doc, but I wanted to see you first. I ain't no damned Messenger boy.”

You laugh, “Poor Sarge, you've been demoted to lifting crates and fetching people.”

“I know! People just don't respect my authority!” he exclaims, causing you to smile at his reaction.

He smiles back, giving you a long once over. You tilt your head slightly at this, “What?”

“You look purty when you're smiling.”

You feel your face warm and your stomach churns slightly. “When did you get all sappy?” You ask, trying to brush away his compliment. 

“What, can’t I be sappy around ya?”

“It’s too bizarre coming from you.”

He shrugs, smile still on his face. Grunting he stands from his seat, “Like a said sweetheart, you haven’t seen my suave side.”

Good-naturedly, you shake your head, rolling your eyes. “Shouldn’t you be fetching someone important for the future of our war?” You ask him.

He ‘tch’s. “Wouldn’t say he’s  _ that _ important, but yeah, I reckon I better get him before Wash starts whining at me.” Grabbing his helmet from beside your leg, he glances back down at you. He offers you an oddly sweet smile. It makes your stomach flutter a bit too much for your liking. “I’ll be back as soon as I can Miss (Y/n). Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone!” He orders, slipping his helmet on and stepping towards the medical office. 

“You’re one to talk!” You call back, making him chuckle.

He waves goodbye to you as he enters the side room to find Doc. Once he’s gone, you gaze back up at the ceiling, picking at the blanket.  _ A few weeks. I can handle a few weeks. _

You wait in bed for an hour before a nurse enters the room, making her way towards you. She had a fresh shirt and sweatpants in her arms. She closes the medical curtain around your bed before helping you in the clothes. Which, by the way, very difficult to do with a broken collarbone. Your whole arm might as well have been dead weight.

Once you finally finagle your way into the articles of clothing, your nurse hands you a small canteen of water and a few painkillers. As she leaves you, you settle back into your cot. Your shoulder and neck are throbbing with pain after your movement, however minimal it was. So you take the pills quickly, setting the container on the floor for later. Closing your eyes, you settle in for a small nap, hoping the painkiller will kick in soon.

You had barely gotten thirty minutes of sleep in before you were jostled awake by someone who was definitely  _ not _ a nurse.

“(Y/n), get up!” Sarge shouts in your ear. His hands are gripping your good shoulder, shaking it firmly. You blearily reach out to shove him away with a grimace. 

“What-” You begin to growl before he interrupts you.

“Get up! We’re evaluating!”

His words startle you out of your anger.

_ Evacuating? _

The sound of gunfire and yelling reaches your ears. Looking around the medical ward you see other patients rushing out of the room, heading towards the hangar. Snapping yourself out of your shock, you hop out of the cot as fast as you can. 

“Sarge, what-”

“No time to explain, come on! We gotta hurry!” He tells you, grasping your good hand and dragging you away from the medical ward. 

“There’s a pelican in the hangar waitin’ for us!” He tells you, dragging you through the halls of the capital. 

Confused, and a bit frightened by the change of atmosphere, you stick close to the Colonel. You weren’t armored and had no weapons; Sarge was your only defense. You could only assume the Mercs led an attack on the capital, and with their new found recruits, there could be pirates everywhere. You weren’t exactly in the mood to get shot again so you let Sarge go first around every corner and even place his hand on your back to guide you beside him. If you’re being honest it was a comforting reassurance. 

Before long, you rush inside the armory through the side door. Tucker, Doyle, Simmons, Caboose, Doc, and Donut were already in the room when you burst in. You expected to the others with them, but don’t spot the freelancers or Kimball. You want to question where they are, dread in your belly rising with the thought that they could’ve been killed, but Sarge rushes you into the back hangar connected to the armory.

“Get on board,” He tells you, guiding you gently, but urgently, towards the pelican. “We’ll join you in a minute,” He adds, before leaving you to head to the front of the shop. In shock, you turn to look at the ship. You spot Grif inside the cockpit, desperately trying to get it started. Quickly, you climb inside to join him in the cockpit; maybe you could help. You knew nothing about flying, but neither did he, perhaps the two of you could figure it out if you press enough buttons... 

He barely acknowledges your presence when you stop beside him in his seat.

“Fuck, fuck  _ fuck _ .” You hear the Hawaiian curse beside you. You blink as you watch him struggle more with the controls. 

“Grif, do you know what you’re doing-”

“Does it look like it?!” He exclaims back, his voice shrill.

“Where the heck is Lopez when you need him?” he grumbles to himself.  _ That’s actually a good point, where is- _ As if on cue, a loud thudding sound resonates from underneath you both. A string of Spanish curses echoes from below.

You both stay silent in surprise before Grif groans low in his throat with stress and frustration. Jumping out of his seat, he shouts back at you, “I’ll get Simmons, stay here!” You watch him run back up the front of the armory, left alone with an angry mechanic inside of the pelican.  _ How does this shit even happen? _ You wonder.

Within a few seconds, you see both Simmons and Grif running towards the aircraft. “Hang on Lopez!” You hear the redhead shout.

“¡Sácame de aqui, bastardos!”

You stand in the cockpit, uselessly, as you watch through the window. Simmons disappears under the craft, more than likely to get Lopez out piece by piece. Another loud sound of bullets echoes closer, causing your heart rate to increase. You feel increasingly exposed without your armor and gun.

Not able to stand this vulnerable feeling any longer, you exit the ship and search around the room to use for protection. You notice a large amount crates on the other side of the hangar. You recognize them as training rifle containers.  _ I’ll take what I can. _ Quickly, you run over, grabbing the lid with your left hand, attempting to rip it open. That was a lot harder to do with only one arm. Giving up on it, you turn your head to find something else. Immediately your eyes lock onto a pistol.  _ Perfect. _

You grab the handgun, checking to see if it is loaded. Surprisingly it was. Someone must have forgotten to unload it. Hearing Grif behind you scuffling with something, you turn around. You see a half-built Lopez reaching for Grif’s neck and suddenly you don’t have to try too hard to guess who it was. The bullets sound louder. Now you can hear Sarge through the other side of the wall shouting something before a heavy machine gun fires off.  _ Sounds like they’re holding the pirates back...Which means they’re  _ way _ too close. _

Clutching the gun with your good hand, you jog back to the pelican, taking a protected stance behind the side of the ship’s loading ramp. You point your gun at the door leading to the front desk in the armory. On edge, you keep your finger on the trigger, waiting for a dark armored pirate to burst through, guns blazing at any moment. 

“Got his other arm out! Now it’s just his head!” You hear Simmons shout from below the pelican. 

“Fucking hurry!” Grif says, holding back an angry Lopez from choking him. “Chill the fuck out, we need to get your fucking arm back on!” He tells the robot, trying to make his way back to Simmons. You can almost see Lopez’s gears click into place, despite not seeing his face...considering it was still in the ship. Lopez abandons the orange soldier’s neck in favor of getting his arm back. So he can choke Grif more efficiently.

You stay in your position, anxiously waiting on the others to come through the door so you can all get the hell out of dodge. You still have no idea what the plan is, but no doubt it involved finding a new base. It made your resolve falter a bit about winning the war. So far it looked like you were losing; practically-wiping-the-floor-losing. This really wasn’t good.

The door burst open suddenly, causing your heart to stop and your eyes to lock onto whoever walked through. You almost pulled the trigger instinctively, but notice the ‘enemy’ was only Caboose. You lower your gun.

Immediately after him, the others follow close behind. “Load up!” You hear Sarge shout. Simmons, Grif, and Lopez (now fully built back together again,) rush to the loading ramp where you were still crouched. Standing up, you let them rush past you. You scan the crowd of soldiers before noticing someone very important is missing. “Uh, where’s Doyle?”

Sarge, stops beside you upon reaching the ramp. “Uhh.” He blanks.  _ Well, _ that’s  _ reassuring. _ “He’s fucking still out in Armonia,” you hear Tucker say behind you. Turning, you look at him directly.

“What, why?”

“Said he’s the only reason keeping the pirates here and we need more time to set the reactor off.”

You pause, blinking. “The reactor, why are we-”

“There’s no time, get on board we’ll pick him up with Wash, Kimball, and Carolina at the LZ; once they’re done setting the reactor’s timer we need to get them and get out;  _ fast. _ ” He orders you.  _ Orders _ . You’ve never seen Tucker so serious before. At the mention of your other commander's name, and the freelancers, you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders at knowing they're still alive. You glance at Sarge as you both enter the Pelican together, the ramp closing behind you. Everyone else is getting settled in the provided seating along the pelican’s walls.

“Why don’t you tell me shit?” You ask accusingly, sitting down in one of the seats. Sarge settles beside you as well, still holding his rifle. “Didn’t exactly have time, missy.” 

“Then tell me now,” You say. 

The ship shakes as it comes to life, rising from the ground and up towards the exit, slowly.

"Short or long version?"

"Short."

“Mercs got the energy sword, they’re here to kill Doyle who is the only one who can make it work, and we’re setting a trap with the city’s reactor to blow their forces sky-high! That’s the cut and dry of it.”

Blinking, you frown, “But Armonia is our home--where are we supposed to go?”

“Who cares, we’re running out of options here! The city is a death trap to us if we stay.” Doc, or rather someone else, answers. The voice was much deeper than Doc's higher pitched one, but it most certainly came from him. You choose to ignore this odd occurrence for now and question it later.

The safety bars above your heads start to move down, signifying that final takeoff was about to be initiated. Once they lock in place, you put the safety of your pistol on and set it in your lap. Gripping firmly onto the bar with your good hand, you begin to worry your lip. 

Sarge must’ve been watching you in silence because he reaches over to you an grabs your hand. It was much larger than yours, especially with his armored gloves on, making it cumbersome to hold, but you squeezed it tight anyway. He squeezed back. It was a silent understanding that this whole situation was bullshit but he was still there for you. This kind of intimacy from him was more than unusual, but with everything happening all at once, you simply ignored it’s strangeness and enjoyed the moment.

The moment, however, is shattered as the Pelican shoots off at a high speed, causing you to jerk back with the force. “Fuck, who’s flying this thing?” You ask as the ship lurches unsurely in the sky.

Simmons is clutching onto his own safety bar with a death grip. “Fucking Grif!” he answers for you.

“Why the hell is  _ he _ flying?” You question. You and Sarge let go of each other in favor of bars in front of you. Glancing around the room, you spot Lopez getting out of his seat. Swaying with the ship he makes his way towards the cockpit with a purpose. “Thank god,” you mumble. At least Lopez was qualified to fly.

“I think I’m going to puke,” a pathetic Doc whimpers. 

“Ew, don’t do it on me!” Donut shrieks. 

“I haven’t even-”

The aircraft lurches another time. Lopez barely manages to grab onto a handlebar near the cockpit door. 

“Kick that galoot out of the seat!” Sarge growls.

“Con placer.” Lopez answers.

Within seconds, Lopez barrels through the cockpit doors and tosses Grif out. The mechanic also makes sure to lock everyone out. The ride instantly smooths out. 

“Jesus, Grif that was fucking the worst flight I’ve ever had in my life!” You chide.

“What, there was a tree in the way, I had to swerve!” Grif exclaims, standing up from the floor.

The safety bars rise up from their positions. You hear Lopez over the ship intercom, “ Ahora puedes moverte con _ seguridad _ por la cabina.”

“Thank God for Lopez,” Sarge grumbles, getting out of his seat. He looks down to you, offering his hand. You glance up at it before taking it, letting the gun in your lap slide into your seat. Once you’re steady on your feet, Sarge reaches up to his face, removing his helmet. 

“Sorry about the rush out of the hospital, didn’t have time to find yer things,” He gestures to your outfit, referring to your missing armor.

“That’s alright, at least I made it out.”

He smiles down at you, but his eyes seem tired. You both must look tired. In fact, you probably look like a wreck with your bed hair and wrinkled clothing. Feeling self-conscious, you turn your gaze away from the Colonel and subtly brush your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth it out. They get caught it a few tangles. Sarge chuckles at you as you attempt to get rid of them without very much luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "¡Sácame de aqui, bastardos!" - Get me out of here, bastards!  
> "“Con placer." - With pleasure.  
> “Ahora puedes moverte con seguridad por la cabina.” - Now you can safely move around the cabin.
> 
> If any of these are wrong, let me know! I'll fix it!


	14. Crash Site Bravo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I normally don't like adding in every little sentence characters say from the show in here, but sometimes its important to the story as a whole. So I left Kimball's speech in rather than skim through it. Anyway, hey, another update that's isn't a week overdue! Nice! :D

The ride was quiet and tense. It didn’t make it easier on your anxiety as you neared the LZ. You had a very bad feeling they weren’t going to make it. You hoped and prayed you were just overreacting. As you were just a few thousand feet from the designated landing zone, the frequency Kimball and the freelancers were using came into range. Their voices ringing out over Sarge’s intercom inside his helmet. One voice, however, caught your attention. 

“I’m afraid...I won’t be joining you.”

_ Doyle. _

If it were possible, the air got thicker and everyone was even more silent. It felt like everyone was holding their breath.

Sarge, fiddles with his helmet’s volume, turning up the sound and frequency to help everyone hear the conversation better.

“The controls are destroyed. There’s no way to overload the reactor with enough time to leave.”

You and Sarge glance at each other, both of you already piecing together what exactly Doyle planned to do. The dread in your stomach that you had tried to ignore this whole time begin to rise with a vengeance.

“I can still trigger an explosion if I damage the core myself,” Your commander continues.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Kimball responds; stress and worry lace her voice.  _ Listen to her! Listen to her for once! _

“Just stay low and we can come to you!” she adds on.

“I’m surrounded, Kimball, and someone needs to pull the trigger.”

The other line is silent in disbelief.

“It’s just as you said,” Doyle speaks again, “Sometimes you have to risk lives-”

“Then let me do it!” Kimball shouts. The amount of raw emotion her words spoke volumes, and it made your heart wretch. Even though the two had their disagreements, they still saw each other as comrades, and still cared whether the other lived or not.

“If Felix isn’t in the city, you’ll be putting the sword right in his hands!” She tries to reason. You hope that helps convince the other commander. The pelican shudders as it begins to descend. You faintly realize you must be at the landing zone.

“Kimball, I know this isn’t a perfect plan, but I’m rubbish as a leader-”  _ No you’re not _ . “-And even worse as a soldier. This is all I can do.”

The pelican doors open, and now you can see the two freelancers and Kimball on the pavement. Wash glances back to you all before turning to Kimball, a firm hand on her shoulder. “We have to go.” When she doesn’t move, Carolina helps to drag her into the ship. She struggles against Carolina’s hold.

“We’ll finally have a chance, a real chance,” Doyle says through Sarge’s helmet, “And if Felix is still out there I know you can stop him.”

“Doyle-” Kimball begins.

“-They’ve spotted me. The timer on this detonator barely lasts a minute, you need to leave now.”

“God damn it Doyle-Stop!” Kimball cries, her voice cracking. You can feel your knees going weak as everything begins to come to a close.  _ This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. _ You fall into your seat, ignoring your discarded hand pistol that presses into your side as you sit down.

“Chorus still needs you, Miss Kimball. So, when you die, you damn better make sure those you leave behind can carry on without you...I know I am.”

Your heart wrenches. Tears are beginning to sting at the corners of your eyes. It feels like everything is falling apart. You barely register someone’s hands on your shoulders.

“This is General Donald Doyle signing off.”

“Wait, don’t do it-” Kimball tries to scream to him, but the sound of him cutting off all communications seems to echo loudly in everyone’s ears.

You cover your eyes with your one hand, the heel of your palm pressing firmly into one of your eyes, trying to hold back the tears. You can hear Sarge murmuring something reassuring to you, but knowing him it probably wasn’t  _ that _ reassuring. Forcing yourself to look up, you see Kimball staring at the pelican ramp closing. The ship shudders as it starts to rise again. You could only imagine how crestfallen her face must look.

Suddenly, Sarge’s face comes into your view. His look of sympathy makes you bury your face back into your hand, the urge to cry in anger and sadness is overwhelming.  _ We were so close to winning, how could this happen? Why did Doyle have to do that? Why? _ Your commander is going to fucking  _ die _ for everyone.

A large wave of helplessness washes over you. So do a pair of arms. Sarge is hugging you tightly to his chest, bringing you back out of your seat and closer to him. You don’t have the strength to dislodge him or even hug him back. You just keep your face buried in his armored chest.

Everyone is silent, both in mourning, and solidarity.

 

The rest of the flight you spent in and out of consciousness, not truly focusing on any one thing. You just sat in your seat, your good hand holding Sarge’s. You had noticed he took off his glove to hold your hand properly, but you didn’t say a single word about it. You didn’t have the energy.

Within a few hours, the ship began to near Crash Site Bravo. Once the door open you can see the rest of the ships come in as well. Soldiers scattered the jungle canyon, many injured and the others helping them into the crashed ship. Eager to get out of the restricting pelican, and the oppressive air that surrounded you all, you step off of the ramp and onto solid ground. 

You take a deep breath of the humid air, trying to help yourself focus. Now isn’t the time to get discouraged, if anything this is when you should be angry and determined to win...But god, it was hard. With so many people around you looking like their soul had left their eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to find that strength. 

A hand on your shoulder brings your attention back to the present. Glancing to your left you see Sarge is by your side, his eyes trained on your own. 

“We can still win,” he says, looking over the people scattered about the canyon. He squeezes your shoulder tightly. 

“How?” Your voice came out a lot quieter and dryer than you expected. 

At the sound, he looks back to you, his eye full of sorrow. You must look and sound so broken to him. 

“I’ll tell you something I learned when I was younger,” he begins, taking his hand off your shoulder. 

“I went hunting with my Uncle once in Georgia. We split up to each get our kill. I was hot on the trail of a buck. After I shot it and went to call after my Uncle I realized, I didn’t know where the hell I was. I spent the whole day, trying to get back to our campsite and only managed to get even more turned around. Spent my night out there too. Resorted to killing squirrels for food. I had to sleep in a tree, cover my scent with the deer piss I had brought-”

“Where is this going?” You ask, scrunching up your face.

“Let me finish missy,” He smiles. “The point is, as long as you have a shotgun, your wits, a container of animal urine, and perseverance, you can survive.”

You can’t help but scoff at his story. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have spare deer urine on me.”

“Heh,” he chuckles, “Wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

“Sarge!” Simmons shouts. You both turn to see Simmons waving Sarge over. “Come on, Carolina and Wash want us to regroup.”

The Colonel glances back to you, “Guess we should go then.”

“Actually,” you say, gently cradling your arm to keep your collarbone from moving, “I think I’m going to find Dr. Grey. I still need something to keep my arm still.”

“Oh, right, uh,” He glances to your injured shoulder, a look of pain flicking across his face, “I’ll see you when the meetings over, then.”

You nod to him as he pivots and walks towards Simmons. As he leaves, your eyes follow after him until he disappears from view. Sighing to yourself, you turn and look around your new base.  _ Where the hell would Grey be…? _

You start off in a random direction hoping to come across one of her assistants or herself. After a bit of walking, a nurse spots you. She approaches you and questions you about your arm.

“Uh, Grey was supposed to get me a sling-”

“Oh, certainly, come I’ll take you to the new ward. I’m sure we can find something for you.”

She guides you inside the large, crashed spacecraft lodged in the canyon wall. A portion of the ship is now the medical wing and it’s absolutely packed. The first thing you notice is that there are no real medical supplies present. The second is the stench of sweat and blood. 

The nurse takes you into the back corner of the room and digs inside a crate they must have found. It had the insignia of the ship on it.

“Here,” she says, pulling out an old, worn, dirty shirt. “It’s crude and rudimentary, but it’ll do the job for now.”

She rips the seams of the shirt so it stretches longer, and helps tie it around your neck. You wince in pain as she adjusts your arm, consequently moving your clavicle. She mumbles a ‘sorry’ but doesn’t attempt to make her actions more gentle. Once she finished, she shooed you out of the room. You didn’t argue with her.

Back outside, you make your way under a shady spot, near some federal soldiers. Upon seeing a Captain approach them, they scoot over to offer you a spot. You thanked them, settling down, leaning against a large rock. The jungle climate was starting to make you sweat heavily. The humid air felt like it was suffocating your lungs, and combined with the throbbing pain in your shoulder and now your back, it was starting to get hard to sit comfortably. The Fed soldiers left you alone to sit there and suffer in your own misery as they did the same. 

At some point, you must have been drifting in and out of sleep. The stress of the day catching up to you, but you never get the relief of much-needed rest because the next thing you know, Kimball’s voice is coming through the intercoms of the recruits’ helmets. Sitting up straighter, you listen, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I never thought this truce would last…” She begins.

_ Uh. _ You blink in surprise. This sounded like a diplomatic suicide, what the hell is she going to do? Your mild panic, however, is calmed as she continues with her speech.

“I thought it would only be a matter of time before we were at each other’s throats again once we beat Charon...I believed this because I still saw the Federal Army as my enemy. When you’re in a war, you learn to demonize your attackers. They’re seen as evil, sub-human even. Because if they weren’t what would that make you?”

You find yourself standing, looking around to spot your only remaining commanding officer. You spot her armor across the dirt path, standing on a platform near the crashed ship. A small group of federal and rebel soldiers gathered below it, listening to her.

“I’ve been afraid to see you for what you really are,” she continues. “You’re our brothers. Our sisters. The things we’ve done to each other are unforgivable…”

Listening to her talk, you begin to realize how strong she is. It was admirable how she was able to stand there, well aware that the Feds blamed her for the death of your Commander, and give this speech. 

“...Now isn’t the time for pride and anger, but unity. Every day I ask myself, “What do you fight for?” And I always say, “For a better tomorrow.’” Kimball says.

You find yourself nodding along with her.

“If we can’t set aside our past, and start trusting one another, there won’t be a tomorrow. So, please...Fight with me. Fight to see Malcolm Hargrove locked away for the rest of his life. Fight to wipe that stupid grin off of fucking Felix’s face! Fight because you deserve _ to fucking win!” _

Her voice rings out in the canyon. Everyone stays silent, in awe. Then a cacophony of cheers and gunfire are let loose. The men and women standing beside you whoop and holler, raising their fists in the air in unison. You find your own voice rising with theirs. A flame of outrage and anger grows in your stomach. You’ll be damned before you let Charon take everything from you. Your eyes trail over the platform Kimball stand on, landing on the group of sim troopers standing to the side. Familiar red armor stands out like a beacon.

Sarge is staring back at you, a look of excitement in his eyes that matches your own. As the shouting eases down, a new buzz of determination now in the air, you march over to the group of mismatched troopers. Sarge meets you at the stairs up. He offers you his hand, which you accept. 

“Come on, we’re not out of the game yet.” He says, pulling you after him. “We still have a trick up our sleeves.” he guides you further into the crashed ship, down a corridor.

“What is it?” You ask. You both stop in the middle of the hall. 

“Remember that redundant temple exploration Grey had me go on?”

You smirk, “The one where you were just a crate lift-”

He coughs loudly, to cover up the rest of your sentence, “Yeah that one. Those weapons we found are still usable.”

Your eyes start to light up at his words.

“There’s a buttload of heavy grade, alien artillery in there! Untouched and functioning!” He smiles widely, looking a bit insane. “Charon is about to get their ass handed to them! We’re getting ready to head out and get those sweet, sweet, weapons. Wanna tag along?”

_ Holy fuck, this is great, we actually have a leg to stand on! _ However, as for tagging along, you don’t think it’s such a great idea. You can’t put armor on with your clavicle out of place, and it’s not a safe idea to go without the protection.

“I’m afraid I can’t but save me a blaster will you?” You ask of him.

He looks a little disappointed, but nods his head, flashing you a large smirk. “Darn tootin’. I’ll let ya know when we get there.”

“Great.”

He doesn’t move to leave. You stand there watching him with a curious expression. He’s staring back with a concerned look, making you fidget. You’re just about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he speaks before you.

“You sure you’ll be alright here by yourself?”

You blink. “Of course, you’re just going to be gone a few hours at best.”

“I-I know, I just want to make sure yer safe is all…” He says quickly, scratching his stubble. Your eyes follow the movement. 

Raising a brow at him, you ask, “What, do you think Charon is going to attack again?”

He shrugs, “It’s possible.”

Placing your left hand on your hip, you shift weight to the other leg. “Sarge, I’ll be fine. You’re acting like a helicopter parent.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. His eyes flicking down to your injured arm. 

You take note of this and file it away for later.

“Why are you acting so skittish about leaving me alone, I’m not a todd-”

“Because I might lose you.” He blurts, his face pinched with nervousness.

Taken aback, you blink. Then you blink a few more times. He stares back at you, his expression was a little too intense than you're used to. “I…” You’re not sure what to say. Silence starts to stretch out between you.

“I know you’re not obligated to like me back sweetheart, I just wanted you to know. I’ve left a lot of things unsaid that I regret. I don’t want this to be one of them.” He gives you a sweet smile, one you weren’t aware he was capable of. It made your heart stutter. You feel weird again. 

“This is final stretch. I want to make it out alive with you.”

“Sarge, I’m going to be fine-”

“This is hard for me missy, I don’t do...ugh, mushy feelings like this so just listen. Kimball said once we get the weapons, we’re all going to the communication temple. She’s going to need every available person…”

You nod, “Of course. Holding a rifle is difficult but if I get a handgun-” You start.

“-I want you to stay here.” He interrupts.

“Excuse me?” You lower your hand from your hip.

“Your injury is just going to hinder you. It might get you killed!”

“You could die just as easily as I could, all it takes is one stray bullet-”

“I can’t take that chance with you!” He growls.

“Sarge, I’m not some china doll-”

“I know that-”

“You know I have a squad to lead too, I’m not going to stay here and let them fight for me-”

“I get what yer saying, Princess-”

“Don’t call me Princess!” Your voice drowns out his. Placing a finger on his armored chest, you take a step towards him “You and I both know that you can’t stop me from going in. I’ve fought in the war since I was fifteen. I know what I’m doing and I’m going whether you like it or not!”

You frown at him, showing to him that you refuse to back down. He stares intently at you, searching your face, trying to find a crack in it. Your heart is pounding with adrenaline. He sighs heavily, “Dammit woman, you’re impossible.”

“You knew what you were getting into with me.” You say, feeling the tension leaving your shoulders slowly. Which made your muscles around your right shoulder to ache with relief.

He huffs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Damn right, wouldn’t have ya any other way.” he takes a small step towards you; you move your hand which had stayed on his chest, finger still pointing. Your heart picks up speed again as you see his face lean a little bit closer towards yours.

“Sarge!” Tucker shouts. His loud voice causes you to flinch back in surprise. Sarge growls low in his throat. Turning to see the aqua blue soldier staring at you both.

“Oh, whoops. Talk about sexual tension,” You hear Tucker mumble to himself.

“What was that?” You hiss, giving him a warning glare. 

“I said the Hogs are ready, let’s go!” He shouts back. Instead of moving out of the corridor, he stays there, waiting for Sarge to follow him.

Sarge sighs, grumbling to himself as he puts his helmet back on. It locks into place and now you can’t read his expression as he looks down at you. Somehow that’s worse than seeing it. 

“I reckon I’ll see you out there.”

“I reckon so,” You reply.

“Kick their asses sweetheart,” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You offer one back. He turns to leave, making his way towards Tucker. You begin to pivot, to head back to your shady spot when you hear a loud  _ thunk _ as Sarge and Tucker round the corridor corner. You hear an audible “Ow, that fucking hurt!” from Tucker. A pleased smile broadens on your face as you walk away.


	15. Underdogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter last minute, that's why it's a few days late. My first pass at it suCKed, I'm much happier with this one; enjoy!

You stood side by side with your squadron, or what was left of it, as the army of Chorus waited on the Reds and Blues’ return. They had taken a pelican, which sent the message that everyone was about to get a _big_ upgrade in both weapons and transportation. Everyone who wasn’t confined to the hospital ward stood outside and watched the sky with anticipation.

Now fully armored again, with an arm modification for your broken clavicle, you wait patiently alongside your fellow soldiers. Barely anyone spoke, mostly communicating through their own private feeds rather than aloud. It felt wrong to speak when the ravine was so eerily quiet.

You flicked your eyes to the corner of your HUD, watching your internal clock. _Few more minutes. They should be here in a few more minutes._ You figured once they were in range they’d send a “Mission Completed” message to everyone’s headset, but nothing had been sent yet. This made you nervous. Had something happened? What if the Mercs saw their airship and shot them down?

A million thoughts ran through your head but one shouted out at you the most. _I swear if Sarge doesn’t message me first I’m going to kill hi-_

Ding.

A ping went through your headset. It went through everyone’s headset. You quickly open the message by pressing a button on the side of your helmet.

Message from Kimball: “Artillery Acquired. Rendezvous at the south clearing.”

A thousand breaths were released at once. Excited talking filled the once quiet air as everyone moved down the gorge to the stated Landing Zone. Your heart rate picked up as your excitement grew. You hardly noticed the pain in your shoulder as you waited for the Pelican to make an appearance.

It wasn’t long before you heard its engine roar in the distance. As it neared, cheering started to rise up from the crowd of soldiers. Your voice rose with them. The large, gray ship crested over the canyon wall and slowly started to descend.

Another ping goes through your helmet. You click it.

“Hey, there gorgeous!” A voice answers. You can’t help but grin ear to ear.

“Sarge! Did you get it?”

The Pelican lands with a graceful shudder. The back ramp lower with mechanical whirring.

“Better bet your ass we did!”

You let a relieved laugh loose from your lips.

The thud of the ramp hitting the dusty ground echoes through the labyrinth of rock. The cheering rises when Kimball exits with the Reds and Blues.

“Load up!” You hear Kimball say on your broadcasting channel.

Everyone moves like a wave towards the ramp. Lopez, Simmons, and Donut are there to help distribute the weapons, armor enhancements, and vehicles. You wait patiently on the sidelines for your troop to gear up first. As you stand, you see a familiar red-clad soldier approach you. Your smile is back.

“Sorry for the wait, there was there was a lot of cargo to load up.” He tells you.

“I can see that.”

You glance over at the ramp doors. “Where's Carolina and Wash?” You just notice they're not in the crowd of people.

“They left on the Hogs to the Purge Temple. They're going to buy us time.”

You nod your head shakily. _Purge temple, right. As if the stakes weren't high enough._

Sarge gently claps you on the back, guiding you to the front of the ship. “Saved you a gun,” he says. Your eyes brighten a little; although, he can't see it.

He pulls down a side compartment on the lower half of the ship, revealing more loot they had collected. He hands you a purple handgun, with odd spikes sticking out of the top.

“To be honest I’m not entirely sure what this one does, but it'll be easier to handle with only one working arm.” He hands you the weapon. Your hand grips the handle firmly as you turn it this way and that, observing the alien tech.

Looking back up from it you stare at Sarge gratefully, “How thoughtful.” He lets out an amused chuckle.

Kimball voice brings to both back to attention,  “We move out in fifteen, grab your gear and meet up with your Captains!”

You let out a breath. “That's me...What section are you going with?”

You couldn't see it, but you knew he had a smug smile. “Why do you want to know sweetheart? Worried about me?”

Scoffing you wave him off. “Considering last time you offered to be on the front lines I have to assume the worst.” You joke.

“Heh. Something like that. Tucker and Church need to get into the communication temple. We’re going broadcast an S.O.S….right after we pull their ship from the sky and crash it into the Purge Temple.” He replies smugly.

Blinking in surprise you stare at Sarge. “Will that really work?”

“One hundred percent!” you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Who came up with all of this?” You ask.

“...Would you believe it if I said it was me?”

“No.”

“Fair enough, it was Church. That blue, despite his terrible color choices, sure knows how to strategize. I'm surprised he never used these ideas back in the Gulch.”

“Well, to be fair, he didn't know he was an A.I.”

He grunts in agreement.

“Leaving in five! Get in your transportation!” Kimball announces.

“Guess I better go.” You say, slowly backing away from the Colonel.

“Be safe, (Y/n).” He tells you. The sincerity behind his words makes your stomach flip unexpectedly. “You too, you trigger happy grandpa,” You laugh.

“Hey!” He barks indignantly. You wave to him as you meet up with your squadron. If they noticed your tardiness they didn't show it. Probably because they knew you were with Sarge and weren't about to say anything about it in front of you.

Climbing into one of your assigned Warthogs, you settle in the passenger seat. Once situated, you give the go-ahead for the driver to start moving forward. Your troop, both on foot and in a vehicle, followed after you.

Soon the whole army was falling into step behind Kimball’s Warthog. As you drove, you spotted Sarge’s red armor far up ahead of you. Simmons and Grif were with him. You hope he doesn't do something stupid and get himself killed.

The drive was silent. Everyone trying to keep their presence to a minimum as you all neared the destination.

A few alien tanks passed you as they moved up closer to the front. A sense of deja vu washes over you as the temple loomed ahead. _Let's hope this time we manage to come out on top._ As the Warthog slows down, you hop out of your seat, planning to lead your soldiers in by foot. You left the driver of the hog, and the one handling the turret, to bring up the rear of your small platoon. Rushing up alongside the craggily rocks just on the outskirts of the temple, you all take your positions, waiting for Kimball’s signal. You activate your heat vision briefly, just to see exactly where the targets were.

Two pirates were on guard duty up in the temple’s loft. A few more littered the inside of the compound and few more outside. You turn your head a few degrees to the right and spot Kimball’s heat blimp advancing towards the tower. You silently prayed to whatever deity would listen to you that she wouldn’t be shot down within 2.5 seconds of being spotted. You wait with bated breath as you listen carefully for the first shot.

It was hardly fifteen seconds before you heard the crackling and powerful warping sound of the alien rifle being fired. As soon as the shot is taken, every soldier advances as a whole unit. You run alongside your companions and fellow officers as you take cover closer to the temple itself. Returning fire echoes back, and you take the opportunity to pinpoint exactly where it is.

With your heat vision on, you can make out two orange blimps rounding the corner on a Warthog. You raise up from your crouched position and open fire as soon as it turns the corner. One of the crystal needles lands in the pirate's arm. He jerks in pain, and within a few seconds of him trying to remove it, an explosion erupts. He flies from the vehicle and his partner is knocked out from the blast. The car crashes into a large rock shelf. You stand in shock at the unexpected result. Even your recruits are bewildered. However, you shake yourself free from your stupor. Quickly, you check your surroundings before motioning for your platoon to advance. Your group’s job was to access the pirates’ weapons supply and cut them off from it. Working around the rough terrain and avoiding detection, you get closer to the compound. Sliding up against its wall you raise your large handgun close to your body. You hear a few warthogs start up from inside before peeling off in the opposite direction.

Your soldiers are right behind you, waiting for your command. You wait a few moments, checking your heat vision once more. You didn't think it was a good idea for you to go in first with your handicap. So you motion behind you for one of your more stealthier recruits to take the lead on this one. They easily slip inside the makeshift garage, taking two more men with him to assist the takedown.

Three shots are fired off from inside before you receive an “All Clear” ping from him. The rest of you file in. You see three pirate bodies lying lifelessly on the floor, blood pooling around them. Nodding to your soldier, you clap him on the soldier before relaying your orders to your troops.

“Sanders, take a tank. Peterson and Roberts, take a Hog and guard the surrounding area. The rest of you, we guard this room. No pirate is going to get any backup artillery if we have anything to say about it!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” They all say in unison. You could hear the readiness in their voices. The infiltration was already going better than before which in turn encouraged your squadron. You were glad about that. You needed every bit of hope during this battle.

Now hidden among the crates of artillery, you lie in wait for the enemy. Within the next few minutes, a large group of pirates attempts to access the garage. Only to be met with your guns. Half an hour ticked by before the pirates stopped tried to access your position and instead held their ground outside the compound. They seemed to realize they weren’t getting in anytime soon and had given up.

However, you hadn't heard from Peterson and Robert. Worried for the, you bring two soldiers with you to scout out further from the building. You spot their Hog no too far from the garage, tipped over and their bodies barely visible from underneath it. You feel your stomach churn as the sight of dislocated bones, and quickly turn your attention to the rocks surrounding the scene. Immediately you spot a black helmet duck down. The three of you adavance swiftly, shooting the bastards before they had a chance to run away. You kick their limbs out of your way as you start to make your way back to the rest of your team when you hear a large explosion from behind, followed by men screaming. The three of you turn, raising your weapons. You hear faintly in the distance a robotic voice announcing loudly, “Engaging hostiles.” It was maybe a few yards from the garage where the rest of your troops were stationed.

“Oh shit,” someone says beside you.

“Get to cover!” You shout at them.

“Squadron D, abandon your post, get to cover! Mantis on your south side!” You inform your platoon. You hear a chorus of cursing from the other end as they split from the large storage room. The explosions are getting close as you and your two companions slide behind a large shelf of rocks.

“Where the fuck did they get that thing?!” One of the men beside you ask, his voice is a bit shrill.

“Charon,” you answer.

‘We’ve lost three!” Someone informs you from across the clearing.

“Fuck,” you growl. You peek around the corner of your rock and spot a UNSC tank and Mantis slowly gaining ground back.

“We need to get to the front lines. They need our help.” You tell the rest of your troops, however many are left…The two beside you follow without question as you guide them closer to the bottom of the tower where most of the others were spread around. _They’re guarding the base teleporter_. You realize. “Push them back!” You command your team.

Once you arrive, you spot the remaining few of your group. Fifteen left in total. You started out with Twenty-two. You feel a piece of you crumble at the thought of losing more of your men, your friends, but you know better than to grieve in the middle of battle. Holding back your emotions, you ground yourself back in reality by concentrating on the pain in your shoulder. It works. 

“Focus your shots on the-” You begin, pointing at the large mobile turret, but stop halfway through your order. You see Carolina in the corner of your eye jump onto the back of the Mantis, slamming her fists into its upper rear compartment. She’s making sizeable dents in its armor. You watch for a moment in awe, before shaking your head and finishing your sentence. “Focus your shots on the tanks and turrets. Long range is our worst enemy right now.” They nod their head in confirmation before taking cover behind abandoned warthogs on their side and large boulders in the dirt.

The battle drags on, causing the pain in your shoulder and chest to make itself known again. Cursing low under your breath and grinding your teeth, you hide behind your wall, taking a moment to breathe. As you do so, you hear someone shout, “Mantis down!” You open your eyes at the words. Glancing around the corner of your cover, you see the metal beast knelt on the ground. Carolina hops down from the back of it, the wires in the control panel sparking.

You already knew Carolina was badass, but this just solidified it even more.

“Tank down too!” Someone shouts in glee. You spot the tank just a few yards off to your left. It’s turned on its side from running over a small cliff of stones the wrong way. Its barrel is dug into the ground and a dead pirate body lays a few feet from it. Shaking excitement enters your veins, causing your hands to shake a bit.

More and more turrets are taken down in succession. It was as if they were dominoes! Many voices hollered in victory as they fell. The excited shouting, however, quieted when a certain A.I.’s voice rings out over the communication feed. Church spoke clearly, his voice ringing in everyone’s headset and radios. Most stopped to listen to the broadcast, you took it as an opportunity to rest on the floor of the temple. As he starts to wrap up his speech you feel your chest swell with an absurd amount of hope. You’d never let it get this big, knowing you’d only be disappointed in the end, but dammit, after so many losses, you had to enjoy this one just a little bit!

Recruits all around you stand up from their hunkered positions to hug one another in celebration. A few even cling onto you, forgetting formalities and regulation rules. You hugged them back.

Kimball shouts in excitement over the shouting with miraculous news you would never have believed. “We’re picking up slipspace activity, there’s a ship already on its way!”

Victorious shots start to go off, cheers are rising from the crowd. “We did it! We fucking did it!” Someone shouts. Everyone starts to come out into the open, eager to see the rescue ship when it comes into the planet’s atmosphere. People talked excitedly, already making plans for the future, a future without war and strife. Their excitement started to catch, because you found yourself relaxing, a large smile on your face. You take an offered hand to help you up from the ground as you both go outside the compound to spot the aircraft.  _We fucking won. I can’t believe we won!_

“I see it! I see the ship!” Bitters yells. You all look to the sky eagerly, eyes locking onto the dull gray aircraft. Your smile widened, but then your eyes catch onto a certain part of the ship. There, on the front left side, stamped in huge letters, was “Charon Industries."


	16. Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the update! Things between you and Sarge are sure to get more personal the next few chapters ;) so look forward to that!

Panic seizes your chest as you hear a voice echo across the sky. “You have made a grave error.”

You spot side compartments open alongside the ship, large metal machines dropping from the opening. They land with a thud twenty feet away from you. Soldiers yell in fear as they recognize them as Mantises. The droids, rise up from their crouched position and load their weapons.

At the sound of their missiles activating you shout in alarm as you, and the other soldiers around you, duck for cover. Scrambling away, you book it towards larger cover. You hear the explosion of the missile. Dirt is raining on you.

Skidding behind a large rock, you crawl on your belly to keep low and out of view. Looking ahead, you spot the three androids stomping through Chorus’s remaining army. _God dammit I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up!_

Your radio crackles with static as someone tries to reach you. You jump at the harsh, unexpected sound. Fumbling, you drop your weapon in favor of pressing the knob on your helmet to fix the frequency.

“...(/n)...Are yo-... (Y/n), answer me god da-”

The static was thick, but you'd recognize that angry voice anywhere. “Sarge!” You exhale, letting your hand wrap back around your gun.

“Oh thank merciful baby Jesus-you're alive!”

“Yeah, for now,” you reply, eyeing the large killing machines who look like they're getting closer.

“Don't talk like that-” He cuts off for a moment, causing you to panic.

“Sarge?”

“Still here. We're going up.”

“Up? Up where?”

“With the chairman. It's time to get up close and personal with that bastard!”

Glancing up at the ominous ship you furrow your brows in worry. You didn't like this idea. That ship could be filled with reinforcements, more _Mantises_ , and God knows what else!

“(Y/n)?” Now it's his turn to worry.

“We...What if-You could die up there-If you're gone then how are we supposed-We barely stand a chance-”

“(Y/n).”

“Sarge there's too many, it's probably a trap-”

“(Y/n)!” He shouts at you. “Stop fretting. Wouldn't want people to think you really do care about me,” he chuckles.

_Of course, I do you fucking idiot._

“Don’t worry ‘bout us sweetheart, we've been through worse.”

You take in a shaky breath trying to calm yourself down from the adrenaline in your body. You nod your head, momentarily forgetting he can't see you. “Okay, please be careful.”

“Anything for you, Princess,” he replies. His radio goes silent and you're brought back to the present. Gunfire fills the air and smoke chokes your lungs. _You can do this (Y/n), just a little longer and it'll be over_.

Getting out from behind your cover, you approach closer to one of the Mantises. It turns on and dime, immediately releasing its gunfire upon you.

“Shit!” You hiss, sidestepping behind a rock. It pins you behind the crater, slowly chipping away at the rock. “Engaging hosti-” It begins to say, before being cut off by an explosion. You hear it thud to the ground. Peeking up from behind your spot you see Kimball reload her gun.

“Come on soldier,” she says. You get up and stand next to your officer. “Where's your squadron, Captain?” she commands.

You twist your head around, searching for your team color. You saw a few in the dirt. Your stomach twists uneasily. Kimball follows your gaze.

“Come on, we need you up front,” she says, her voice a little more sympathetic.

You both run up the hill, towards the fray of battle. Ignoring the pain in your shoulder, you power through. You’d be damned if you’d die here. Meeting back up with the freelancers, you can’t help but feel a little safer.

Kimball split off from your group, going to find her other captains and lieutenants, trying to regroup. Standing beside Washington, nerves frazzled, you watch Carolina take on another Mantis, much to your disbelief. Wash watched her as well. Carolina’s efforts were pointless, however, as more fell from the sky. A wave of hopelessness washes over your shoulders. Exhaustion is starting to nag at the back of your brain, but you refuse to give up. Placing a hand on Wash’s shoulder, you bring him back from his staring.

He looks to you, shaking his head clear of private thoughts. Raising his gun, he joins you as you both advance closer to the female warrior, keeping her back covered from other Droids and stray bullets. Although, that gave you an idea. Turning, you spot a single Mantis not far off, stomping someone, you hoped it was a pirate, into the ground. Raising your gun, you fire a few needles into its side. Once they explode, the dreaded machine turns angrily to you.

“(Y/n), what are you-” Wash begins, staring at the machine now advancing.

“Carolina!” You shout.

She doesn’t turn her head to address you, but you know she heard your voice over her communicator.

“Hold it still!” You tell her. You run up closer, near its feet. You face the android once more and fire a few more shots, egging it closer. Wash must’ve caught on because he starts firing at the Mantis next.

“Over here big guy!” He taunts.

Carolina glances up briefly from her punches, judging the distance between her and the other war machine. You wait for it to load its missiles. Upon hearing the tell-tale sound of the launchers loading, you bend your knees, preparing to dart away at the last second. Washington follows your lead.

“Now!” Washington shouts. The missile fires and the three of you separate from the injured and beaten Mantis. The explosion heats your back through your armor. Scraps of metal rain down around you and you scramble to find cover. A few large chunks crash to the ground with a clang. Looking up from your spot, you search for the other two. You spot them not far from you. Unfortunately, the mantis is closing in on them.

“Engaging hostiles,” it says.

 _Fuck you!_ You wanted to scream. Instead, you quickly looked around you, checking your surroundings, before standing up. You reload your gun, firing at the weak points surrounding the joints. The mini-explosions cause its arms to stop its full range of motion. The large metal beast turns its attention to you, taking an intimidating step in your direction. The ground quakes under your feet as it steps.

The second pair of projectile launchers rise from it’s back. _Oh shit._ You had forgotten about those. You try to run, but of fucking course, you trip over the body parts of the previous Mantis. “Fuck!” You yelp, falling on your bad shoulder. Pain shoots across your collarbone and back upon impact. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You’re momentarily blind to the world around you as all your brain can process is _that fucking hurt!_ Luckily, Carolina and Wash were there with you. They attempt to distract the machine, but don’t seem to be having much luck. Its weapons system is still loading.

“Get back!” You hear someone command. Looking behind you, you see a tank, one of your tanks. The guided missiles land dead in the Mantis’ chest, causing it to tear apart at the seems. It falls back, barely missing the two freelancers who were still trying to clamber away.

You hear a victorious whoop come from the tank. A head pops out moments later and you recognize it as Palomo. _He should_ not _be handling a tank...But I’ll give him this one._ You slowly rise from the dirt, cradling your injured arm. Gritting your teeth you hold back your painful sobs. _Dammit, pull it together (Y/n), you’ve had worse._ You try to stand, but your muscles protest. You cursed your body.

Wash runs up to you, kneeling on your left, wrapping your good arm around his shoulder to help you stand. You groan in protest, but stand up with him.

“You alright?”

“Peachy,” you hiss through your teeth.

Carolina reaches your side next. “Church better hurry or Hardgrove will wipe us all out before we even get a chance to be rescued.”

“If Hargrove goes down he's going to take us with him,” Wash adds.

“Talk about a sore loser, huh?” You try to joke, regretting opening your mouth as your neck flexes. Pain flicks through your chest again. “Fuck,” you groan.

“We need to get you to a medic,” Wash says, heaving you up a little more. Helping you walk, he guides you over to a sheltered hill. Setting you down gently, he presses the button on the side of his helmet.

“We need a medic as soon as possible. Our coordinates are-” A nearby explosion shakes the ground and dust surrounds you in a thick cloud.

“Shit,” Wash grumbles. Popping his head around the corner he yells at Palomo, “Watch it!”

You hear a distant apology echo back. Sighing heavily, you gently bang your head on the packed dirt behind you. Wash kneels beside you, watching from behind the slope, keeping an eye out for you while you waited on the medic to arrive. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire. The throbbing wouldn't stop.

It felt like hours before you spotted a nurse running towards you. You let out a relieved sound, but it was more akin to a pathetic whimper.

“Where are you hurt?” She asks, crouching beside you.

“Shoulder, right clavicle. My brace broke.”

She nods her head and immediately begins to strip away the armor around your shoulder. You clench your jaw tight as the movement causes the pain to flare up.

“It wasn't a smart idea to use this armor type for your injury. Training armor would've worked better; it's lighter, more breathable.” She scolds you.

“But weaker,” you add. You couldn't see it, but you felt the disapproving glare from the woman. Your shoulder now free, you let out a breath of relief. you let out a relieved puff of air, momentarily fogging up your visor.

Suddenly the loud firing from the android ceases. You hear their joints whirr as they crouch down as if resting. Craning your neck to look around the Doctor, you see a Mantis power down, weapons retreating back into its arms. You watch with wide eyes. “He did it,” you whisper. “ _They_ did it!” You correct yourself, voice trembling with excitement.

You see Carolina in the corner of your vision abruptly place her hand on her helmet.

“On it. We’ll grab a pelican and head up to you.” She replies to whoever is on the other side of the feed. “Wash,” she orders.

“Right,” he answers, standing up from beside you, “We’ll be back, we have to get the others. Try not to die!” He yells back at you, running alongside Carolina. You watch as they disappear from view, a bit stunned at the sudden turn of the war. _Did, did we just win?_ Hearing the distant victorious shouts, you could only assume so.

Pain jolts you back into the present as the nurse carefully readjusts your collarbone. “Holt shiiiit,” you groan, hand clenching in the dirt. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you desperately try not to focus on the pain. The feeling on the bone being moved was _bizarre_. It made your skin crawl. You resisted the urge to pull away from the medical officer, knowing it would be finished sooner if you just gritted your teeth. When she finally pulled her hands away, you suck in a deep breath, having held your breath during the whole ordeal.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes,” you breath.

You shakily stand on your feet, careful not to move your right arm at all for fear of another burst of agony. Thankfully, you’re spared the torture as you straighten up to your height. The nurse gently guides you away from the hill, bringing you to a warthog. She leaves you to lean against the car as she fishes something out from the vehicle. When she pulls away, she’s holding a rag.

“I can’t believe you actually went into battle without your arm in a sling,” she huffs. It felt as though she was talking to herself rather than you. You kept silent. “Did you not get one from Grey when she put your brace on after surgery?” She asks.

This time you answer. “Never had time. Had to evacuate.”

The Nurse shakes her head, mumbling something under breath as she gently fixes the cloth around your neck and arm. You refrained from mentioning you actually did have a sling earlier in the canyon. You had a gut feeling the girl might not appreciate the extra fact...Especially seeing as she might box your head off for your recklessness. You’ll admit going in one-handed wasn’t _ideal_ , but you’d be damned staying back at the gorge with the others.

The medical profession talks with you, asking questions about your injury, paging someone on her communicator once she was satisfied with your information. You hardly paid any attention to the one-sided conversation.

Your attention was fully on the dark gray ship still hanging in the sky like a cloud. Despite not wanting to admit it aloud, you were worried for Sarge. Painfully so. You hadn’t meant to actually care that much about his well being. Before this dating deal, you, of course, would have cared if he had gotten hurt or ever killed, but now it felt more personal and raw. You didn’t like it. Not one bit. It made your stomach feel sick at the thought of him not making it out alive. It also made unwanted tears sting the back of your eyes as you held them back.

_He’s not dead. He’ll be fine. Stop worrying._

You take in a shaky breath as you watch the sky, half expected to see something-anything. You get your wish when suddenly the structure starts to move. For a moment, you think it’s falling until you realize that it’s descending at an even pace. _It’s landing._

A crackle goes off in your helmet as Carolina’s voice comes through the speakers. “We have Hardgrove in custody. We did it, everyone. We won.”

The silence that followed after the statement was charged; everyone absorbing the news. The roar that erupted from the remaining rag-tag army made your tears finally fall. You felt so many emotions. Joy and disbelief were two of them, but there was a third you couldn’t name.

You watch as the large whale of a ship lands with a booming thud. It’s landing gear holding the aircraft’s massive weight on the rocky dirt. Unintentionally, you find your legs moving you closer to ship. The nurse, still talking in her communications device, shouting over the volume of the excited troops, doesn’t notice your departure.

Soon you find yourself running. You had to know if he’s alright. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close in on the ship. You see the ramp on the side of the aircraft lower. You’re still a few hundred feet away.

Others are also running towards the ship, eager to see their heroes triumphant. Faintly, you hear a voice shouting after you somewhere behind you. Probably the nurse. You didn’t care, because you see red armor as the ramp fully opens to the outside world.

The chairman has his hands firmly behind his back, looking absolutely furious. Carolina and Wash are on either side of him, shoving him forward down the ramp.

You’re forced to slow to a stop as the constant movement of your body causes more pain to erupt from your shoulder. You growl under your breath at the hindrance. However, your complaints stop as you see Sarge running towards you instead. Honestly, you never thought the old man could move that fast.

He’s upon you within an instant. He skids to a stop just shy of you, hands going to wrap around you until he notices your bare arm, wrapped in cloth. He hesitates with the planned hug.

“Are you alright?” He asks worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m alright; still alive and breathing. Are _you_ alright? You’re the ones that went up on a ship controlled by a madman!” You exclaim.

His hands gently hold your arms. He chuckles, “I’m just fine, sweetheart. Hardly broke a sweat.”

“...You’re hurt aren’t you?”

“Good Lord, can’t you have faith in me?”

“You’re avoiding the subject-”

“I’m fine-”

“Don’t lie to me-”

“I’ll prove it then!” He grunts, removing his hands from you and ripping his helmet off. His hair is a mess. You hold back a snicker at the crazy hairdo. “Happy?” he asks, gesturing to his face.

“Hardly, you could’ve been shot elsewhere.”

“Gosh, you’re a hard one to please.

You prepare to say something snarky but the medic is back by your side and she’s furious. While she was intimidating, she was nowhere near as terrifying as Dr. Grey.

“What the hell are you thinking running off-Your shoulder is _injured_ -You need to rest it before you make it worse-” She rants.

Sarge attempts to step in on your behalf. You’re sure his charming words would’ve done wonders, but this particular medic was _not_ having any of it. He is quickly shooed away by the nurse. “I outrank you!” She snips when he attempts to pull his commander’s voice out. The look of outrage and shock on his face made you laugh despite your situation. You allow her to tug you away from Sarge, enduring her tirade.

“I’ll see you back at base!” You shout over her voice, still laughing at Sarge’s expression.


	17. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a slow and calm chapter for once haha! I feel like it's just been action non-stop. But now that the war is over I get a lot more wiggle room to explore your and Sarge's relationship in depth >:D

You sit on a bench inside the crashed airship at Crash Site Bravo. Your arm was, at last, in a proper sling, and you actually managed to get some pain killer. You were strictly ordered to do nothing until 4 weeks minimum. That seemed like a lifetime away, but for the first time, you could wait 4 weeks without worry. Hardgrove had lost and Chorus had won. You had time to spare and wait. 

You hear footsteps approach you. Glancing up, you see Sarge in his commons clothes. He looks as tired as you feel. “Hey, good-looking,” he smiles, the cheerfulness not quite reaching his eyes. He takes a seat next to you, sighing as he slouches in a relaxed position. Neither of you says anything, content to just stare at the wall in front of you. The sounds of the doctors on the floor below you echo up through the hall. You can hear medical instruments clinking and busy feet bustling people around.

The adrenaline of the battle had all but worn off, and any excitement you had felt at your victory had dwindled. Of course, you were happy you had won, but your body and emotions had been on a crazy roller coaster these past 48 hours. You felt like you could drop dead at any moment, but anytime you closed your eyes, your brain kept replaying the massacre, the twisted limbs of people, the screams, and the  _ smell _ . You take a shaky breath in before letting it out slowly. Sometimes you could still smell the blood, sweat, and burning skin of the soldiers. It sickened you enough to keep you awake. You lean against the wall behind you, letting your head gently tap the metal surface. 

A memorial was decided to be held a week from now, officers leading the service. You felt your heart clench at the memory of your recruits bodies lying in the dirt, motionless. They weren’t much older than when you enlisted, but it still made you angry how unfair it was that teenagers had to fit this godforsaken war.  _ But now it’s over. Their sacrifice made a difference in the future. _ You’re not sure where this calm voice came from, but you appreciate the sentiment. However, it didn’t lessen the pain. 

The familiar sting of tears behind your eyes causes you to dig the palm of your hand into your left socket. Silently willing the unwanted reaction away, you try to calm yourself. You feel a calloused hand gently circle your wrist. Tugging the limb away from your face, Sarge looks at you with concern. 

“Are…?” He begins pausing, choosing his words carefully. He sighs after a moment's thought before shaking his head and releasing your arm to scratch his scruff. It’s grown a lot more. You could already guess what he was going to ask you, but he already knew the answer. No, you weren’t alright.

You take a deep breath, leaning forward, resting your elbow on your knee. “Want to grab dinner?” You ask quietly, your voice cracking; throat dry. 

Sarge’s attention flicks over to you, his eyebrows pinching together painfully at your hoarseness. “Sure.” He stands slowly, as if he were lazy, before offering his hand to you. You take it without hesitation. You walk side by side, hands still holding onto one another’s; you’re too tired to give a flying fuck about what it could look like to others. All you cared about was food, sleep, and someone’s quiet company. No one else was better suited for the job than Sarge. The silence between the two of you wasn’t comfortable, per se, but it was preferred to talking.

Guiding you outside the ship, away from the smell of cleaning alcohol and other medical treatments the doctors managed to save from Armonia. You were grateful to get away from the acidic smell.

Shuffling towards the rations station, you both grab a small package, compiled of plain crackers, cheese, peas and corn, a fruit, and a small pouch of granola. All of it was mostly snack food, basically, but after everything that’s happened, it sounded heavenly. No matter how mundane. Setting yourself down under a crashed ship’s port side, currently buried deep in the rock, you open the package and begin to eat. Sarge plops beside you with a grunt, opening up his own pack. The late evening air was humid but definitely cooler. You appreciated the break from the harsh sun.

Quietly, you both watch people mill about, either finding a place to bed or to grab their dinner. If you had to guess, you’d all stay in the canyon for a little longer until Kimball said otherwise. There wasn’t exactly a better place to stay-although you suppose the old rebel base might due. You hummed at the thought, deciding you should bring it up with Kimball later...Probably tomorrow. 

Chewing, you focus back on your surroundings rather than just staring mindlessly. You realize Sarge is staring at your arm. Glancing over, you see the pinched expression he wears. Internally, you believe it’s because he really does feel guilty, but has too big of pride to admit it. You refrain from saying anything, deciding you’ll let him come to the conclusion himself. You certainly weren’t going to throw him a bone, especially when you knew he’d stick his nose up at it. Finishing your rations, you crinkle the plastic wrappers in your fist before tucking them in your pocket. You’d throw them away whenever you found a proper trash can. 

The sun, now blocked by the tall canyon walls, leaves the army of Chorus chilly as night descends. Goosebumps start to prick on your skin, but you remain seated, waiting on Sarge to finish his own portions. You watch him eat, not really paying attention. He lets you, not minding your gaze. Although, you suppose he'd never mind. 

Gathering his own trash in hand, he stands up from the dusty ground, grunting with the effort. Another comment about his age flitters across your mind, but you file it away for another time. Just not right now. You want to sleep first. Taking the lead, you travel across the gorge path until you stumble upon Simmons and Grif, sitting contently in a pitiful shack up against the stone wall. Simmons silently acknowledges you both, motioning Grif to scoot over to make room for the two of you. Grif makes a halfhearted complaint about having to share the space with Sarge but ultimately moves to make more room.

Most of the actual bedding had been taken to the temporary medical ward for the severely injured patients. This left the rest of the army to sleep under the stars on the hard ground. Could be worse though.

Sitting on the side of your folded legs, you gently arrange yourself so your arm is in a stable position. Lowering yourself onto the ground, you stare up at the metal ceiling, absently wondering if it’d fall during the night and slam you in the face. You hear Sarge settle beside you with a groan, yawning. Normally, you’d probably oppose sleeping next to the Grandpa, but...fuck it. Closing your eyes, you listen to the quiet sounds that echo through the ravine as you slip into sleep. And what a wonderful sleep it was. 

You had worried you’d experience nightmares, but your brain must’ve been so exhausted from the past few days’ events that it didn’t even have the strength to try and frighten you. The most imagery you got was you walking aimlessly in the Jungle. An arm wrapped in vines rather than the cloth sling. You only woke up because as this dream closed to an end, the vines circling around your neck grew to wrap around your shoulders and the other arm, effectively trapping your upper half. You tried to pull your arm free but in the process moved the wrong one. 

Pain in your right shoulder makes your eyes crack open, temporarily confused as to why you were sleeping on the harsh ground. Instead of moving to investigate, you lay there, letting previous memories roll in to fill the gaps in for you. Breathing evenly, you blink as you see late morning light fill in the tiny space around you. You can hear Grif snoring somewhere to your right. Turning your head slightly, you spot him dead to the world, arm slung over his face. Simmons was about the same, arm sprawled out over Grif’s hairy legs. You smile inwardly at the sight, finding their slumbering positions to be amusing if not endearing. 

Then you feel an arm twitch on top of you. Glancing down, you finally notice a scared arm draped over your ribs. It's Sarge’s arm. It’s then that you realize the vine in your dream was nothing more than your brain's interpretation of his limb keeping your other arm trapped by your side. You can feel his breath tickling your neck as his head is buried in your hair. The position was...Less than ideal. In fact, it was pretty awkward, but you allowed it. Only because you knew that if you moved on your own accord it would wake him up and you’d never hear the end of it from him. Or the other two should they wake up. 

So you wait, staring up at the matte ceiling, mind wandering aimlessly as the morning drags into noon. It’s then that your bones protest. Sore and stiff, they beg for you to rise from the cramped situation. Sighing, you slowly sit up, Sarge’s arm rolling down your stomach to rest in your lap. Wary of the result, you check over at Sarge, half expecting to see a smug smile. Instead, he remains still, mouth slightly open as he breathes evenly. ‘Tsk’ing yourself for your childish assumption-that’s Tucker’s style, not Sarge’s-you remove his hand away from your pelvis and leave it beside Sarge.

_ Never thought he was the cuddling type. _

Rising to your feet, you briefly let a smile twitch at the corner of your lips. Popping your back, you let out a relieved sigh. The noise causes Simmons to stir from his place beside your feet. He rubs his eyes, sitting up, turning his head this way and that. You notice a nice covering of dust on the back of his head where he had been laying. You realize you probably have the same result and begin to ruffle your locks to get rid of the unwanted dirt.

“Morning,” Simmons grumbles, still half asleep. He sits cross-legged, arms flopped in his lap as he slouches. 

“Noon,” you correct, seeing how bright it is outside with people moving about. 

He groans some at this. “Carolina is probably gonna kick our asses for sleeping in,” he sighs, not moving a muscle to get up. You watch him for a moment, blinking, waiting for him to finish the words that hang unspoken in the air.

“Don’t care,” he adds at last.  _ There it is _ .

You smile at him, stepping outside, dusting the back of your pants outside. Simmons follows you, careful not to step on his officer. “Leave them?” You ask, glancing back at the two boys still lying in the dirt.

He hums, “Might as well. Grif will just sleep during a meeting-hell even walking-and Sarge desperately needs the rest.” 

You nod in agreement. “Brunch then?”

“Yes to that.” He says, falling into step with you. Winding your way back to the rations station, you both pick up your portions deciding to sit up high. Letting your legs dangle off the metal bridge that spanned across the two canyon walls, you munch on the raisins provided for you. They were incredibly bland.

“Welp,” Simmons begins, “We won.”

“Mmhm,” you agree. 

“Wonder if there’ll be a parade…” He jokes sarcastically. 

“Probably a big banquet, with turkey and ham.” You correct.

“A huge cake,” he adds, bitterly biting into his meal.

“With loads of whipped frosting.”

“Ew,” he grimaces.

You whip your head to him. “You don’t like whipped frosting? It’s so fluffy!”

He chuckles, “Call me old, but I can’t handle sweets anymore. Hurts my teeth...Plus it rots them anyway.”

“You sound like my mom,” You tease, popping another raisin in your mouth.

His lips twitch up. You both relax into silence once more. Enjoying the other’s company. People walk below you both as they go about their business. For the first time in a very long while, everyone is wearing their casual clothes. They appear dead and tired, but relaxed. The weight of the war is finally gone from their shoulders. A small smile pulls at your lips, sighing inwardly knowing that you won't ever have to fight another battle for a long time. Hopefully, you won't ever have to for the rest of your life, but you didn't want to assume.

“How long do you think till a ship arrives?” You ask.

Simons shrugs, “Who knows. Space travel is wonky as hell. There's no telling how fast they'll get here. Even with slipspace travel, it could take a month.”

You groan at that. “You're supposed to assure me and say, ‘Soon! A week tops!’” You give him a playful smile, but it's laced with impatience.

“Oh, my bad. Don't worry they'll be here in a flash! Oh, and they're bringing the president with them as well to congratulate us on our victory! Isn't that great?” He sasses, holding his face in mock excitement.

“Alright,  _ buddy _ ,” you laugh, gently hitting his shoulder, “I could do without the sarcasm!”

“Not so fun when you're on the receiving end, huh?” He chuckles, dumping the remaining raisins in his mouth. 

You shake your head, hands loosely hanging in your lap as you slouch. “Guess a month  _ minimum _ isn't too bad...Just going to suck given that we're going to run out of food soon.”

Simmons turns to you quizzically. “There's still plenty left, by my calculations it should last us…” He pauses counting in his head. “A month and a half.” 

You raise a brow expectantly at him. 

“Okay so it's not that much  _ longer _ , but still.” He huffs.

You chuckle. “Kimball’s probably already figuring out what to do, I'm not too worried.”

“Well, actually, you know how the blues met that alien A.I.?”

You crinkle your nose, “No? What, when did this happen?”

“Oh, I guess you weren't there for that memo.”

You laugh, eyebrows pinched, “No I wasn't. Fill me in?”

He shifts, picking his dangling legs up and sitting criss-cross. He turns so he's facing you. “Okay so Carolina, Wash, Grey, Tucker, Caboose, and Church,” he winces as he says the A.I.’s name, “You know how they went to check out those coordinates?”

You nod your head.

“Well it's guarded by some pretty ancient tech; the Alien A.I. I mentioned.” You hum, encouraging him on. “And I don't know all the details, but there's something about a “True Warrior” somewhere. Anyway, my point is, the A.I. said that there were other temples we could unlock with our keys. Tucker's sword and Felix sword, er well not anymore I guess.” He picks at his nails. “You know, since Felix’s dead and all...And since Locus ran off with it.” You nod your head, feeling nervous about the thought of Locus, the more frightening of the two mercs, being loose.

“So these other temples...One of them had those extra weapons right?” You ask. “And another one was the Purge?”

“Yes,” he says, tapping his nose. 

“Sarge never tells me anything I only ever get bits and pieces.”

“That's basically how our time in Blood Gulch was. Sarge is a great person-”

You snort.

“-But a  _ terrible _ communicator!”

“I believe it.” You chuckle, turning your body so you're facing your friend as well. You fold your legs beneath you. 

“There's one more temple though. I think Tucker called it the Harvest Temple or something else unoriginal,” he waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

Your eyes widen some at this, eyebrows raising. “So we might not starve after all!” 

Simmons smiles, quietly letting out a chuckle. “Unfortunately, no, we won't be starving anytime soon.”

“Tck, you only say that because you want to see Grif suffer,” You grin, playfully slapping his arm.

“Hey, a fast wouldn't hurt him!” He laughs. You shake your head at Simmons, finishing off your leftover crackers. Crinkling the paper in your hands you stand up. Simmons follows you. 

“You think Kimball’s going to send Tucker out there to activate the temple?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Probably. She might have to wait though, a lot of our gas and cars are out of commission.”

“Lopez must have his hands full then,” you remark. Walking down the tunnel that extends into the canyon wall and into another ship, you turn down the corridor. Simmons walks beside you, dropping his trash in an empty crate at the corner. You follow suit, making sure to empty your pockets from last night's dinner.

“I'll probably join him in the ‘shop,’” he says, making finger quotations in the air. In reality, Lopez was having to work in the harsh sun, surrounded by scavenged warthog parts and spaceship scraps. It was more akin to a metal graveyard than a workshop. You both walk down the steps that lead back outside. “Alright. I'll go wake up the other two, I doubt Sarge would happy knowing I left him there with Grif.” You say.

“Bold of you to assume he's not already awake and burying Grif’s body as we speak.” Simmons jokes. You laugh at that. Waving to him, you part ways. You'd probably meet back up with him later tonight. You had a feeling the four of you would be crashing together until Kimball decided to move base again. Your back protested at the thought of sleeping on the ground again.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, don't worry about being harsh I need to know what works and what doesn't


End file.
